


Problem Child

by taizi



Series: Problem Child [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, The high school AU no one wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 100,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michelangelo has three overprotective big brothers, some questionable friends, a burgeoning need to make himself useful, and a lot of growing up to do.<br/>(Fusion of the 2k12/IDW 'verses, Human AU)</p><p>2015 TMNT Fanfic Competition Winner: 1st Place "Best Michelangelo"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Problem Child - Part 1

By the time they pulled up to Mikey's apartment building, the rain was coming down in buckets. When the van stopped by the curb, he leaned up between the driver and passenger side seats to beam at the coach.

"Thanks for the ride home! Sorry you had to go out of the way, I didn't realize me and Woody were the only two who lived way out here!"

A mudcaked Woody grinned from the backseat, and their coach smiled. "It's no problem. I'm just sorry you boys got soaked- the forecast said no rain, so I didn't call practice but I think the clouds should have tipped me off, huh?"

Mikey giggled, and popped open the side door. "Well, at least we get to go home early, right? See you cats tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow, Mike!" Woody called back.

"Hurry inside, kiddo."

Mikey hopped out and rolled the door shut behind him, then turned and rushed up the wet stone steps. It felt weird in cleats, and he almost slipped twice once he was in the lobby, but he made it to the elevator in one piece.

"Awww." Crestfallen, his shoulders sank a little at the handwritten sign taped over the button panel. "Out of order? But my legs are  _tiiired."_

Trudging to the stairs he pulled open the heavy door with both hands and slipped inside before it could slam shut again, and started up the five flights.

"Well at least this way I can surprise the guys!" he told himself brightly, leaving a dirty trail on the steps as he climbed. "The elevator is  _so_ loud when it stops on our floor, they totally would have heard me. Oooh, maybe I can help with dinner!"

He trotted a little faster up the last set of stairs, and through the open doorway onto the fifth floor. He pulled his duffel around to dig around for his key when he made it to the door with a missing 505, and after a brief battle with the ancient lock, he was in.

Their apartment was sorta small; a kitchenette shared room with the dining room table and chairs, and the living room was only big enough for a lumpy couch and some beanbag chairs crammed in front of the huge entertainment center they scored for fifteen bucks at Goodwill. The T.V. was kinda old, and the only gaming platform they had was an old PS2 Leonardo brought home from a rummage sale.

But they had a DVD/VCR player and pretty much all the best movies in the world, and the landlord ran cable through each unit so they got like twenty channels and sometimes Cartoon Network came through which was  _awesome._

"Weeell, if nobody's out here they're probably having a _family meeting_. Boooring."

Mikey dumped his bookbag on one of their mismatched chairs by the dining room; he didn't have any homework, but he had a math test from last week he wanted Donnie to take a look at. He kept his duffel bag over his shoulder as he wandered down the hall, cause it was sorta dripping and he'd ask Leo if they should take it down to the basement laundry room tonight or dump it all in the tub and wait till tomorrow.

There were two bedrooms, and Mikey shared with Raph. They had moved in a couple years ago, back when Raph and Leonardo still fought like every day and night, so instead of doing oldest and youngest, Donatello offered to share a room with Leo if Mikey didn't mind bunking with Raphael. And, duh, he totally didn't!

By the time things between the two oldest of their little family mellowed out, everybody was comfortable where they were at. And since Leo was the oldest and Donnie was super smart, meetings usually happened in their room.

Sure enough, there was a sliver of light spilling through the cracked door onto the carpet in the hall. Grinning ear to ear, Mikey crept a little closer, and reached out.

"Money was tight again last month, but we made it," Raphael was saying, and Mikey froze with his hand on the wood panel. "Somehow."

"I have an interview next week for a job in tech support," Donnie said. Mikey could imagine him leaning forward in his desk chair earnestly. "The counselor at school showed me the application, it's sort of like a paid internship for students interested in IT. I think it's only like ten hours a week, but its eleven dollars an hour, and I could work from home. That would help, right Leo?"

"You know it would, Donnie." Their big brother's voice was warm. "But you don't have to do this if you don't want to. You can always change your mind if you don't like it and just focus on your grades."

Leo got his GED two months after he turned sixteen. As much as he liked school, their family was always Leo's number one priority. He was eighteen now, and after two years of online courses and student loans, he had an associate's degree and a position lined up as a PTA over at QHC, which was a  _really_ cool hospital, and only like twenty minutes from home. Leo was quietly passionate about physical therapy, and it was obvious to his brothers he was happy to be saying goodbye to his minimum wage job and starting an actual career.

Raph was a year younger than Leo, and he wanted to get his GED, too; but Leo talked him into graduating instead.

 _"It was really hard,"_ Leo had told him gently, a hand on his shoulder.  _"And a diploma will take you farther than a GED took me. Just work part time, work the weekends. We'll make it."_

"Of course I know that, but I wanna help," Donnie replied firmly. "I'm finally sixteen, so earning a paycheck is a valid option now. It won't be much, but it's something."

"Alright, so the budget this month is pretty much the same," Raph said, and Mikey heard papers rustling. He shifted where he stood outside the door; he didn't want to miss anything, but he'd hate to interrupt. He never really got to listen to budget talks. "We really gotta watch all the extras. And it's getting colder, so electricity will probably start going up soon, right?"

Leo hummed, an acknowledgement, and there was a faint scratching of pencil for a minute.

"Mikey's coach sent him home with this letter last week. It was sealed, so Mikey didn't peek. Their team is going to sectionals, so this went out to all the parents."

" _Jesus,_ for real? What the hell does he need $150 for?"

Mikey felt his stomach drop; he sucked in a breath and held it.

"The soccer team isn't funded like the football team is. You know that, Raph, you played freshman year; once we paid your registration fees, the school provided you with everything else- travel, lodging, the whole shebang. But Mikey's coach has a lot less to work with, he really depends on parents stepping in when they can."

"That makes sense," Donatello said wearily. "How are we gonna fit that in, though?"

"We gotta think of something," Raphael said at once. "He loves that team. He was  _floating_ when he told us they won. It's bad enough we can never go to his games, we can't tell him he has to quit now."

"But we can't afford it, Raph," Donnie told him. "As much as he likes it, we just don't have the money. If all four of us could work, maybe, but as it is- both of your paychecks combined are barely enough to cover rent half the time, and I don't think we'll get another handout from the city's energy assistance program. The school soccer team is practically free, just thirty bucks for cleats and a jersey, so there was never a problem- we didn't budget for over a hundred dollars!"

"And I don't start work at QHC for another month," Leonardo muttered. "Once I have that pay coming in, a  _lot_  can change; we can get some new stuff- better furniture, a decent T.V. Maybe even start looking at better apartments, bigger ones. And Mikey can play all the sports he wants. But until then- I don't know what we can do. We're stretched about as thin as we can go without breaking."

Mikey blinked a few times, thrown for a loop. Things couldn't have been that desperate; they always had food, and old movies to watch, and loads of cool stuff from the Salvation Army. Mikey  _liked_ their stuff. What was Leo talking about?

_Our money problems are really that bad?_

"It's not like Mikey can earn the money for soccer himself- he's only fourteen, he can't work."

Something like panic or guilt or both was rising up Mikey's throat. It felt like he was going to be sick.  _I can't help it. I didn't know that's what the letter said, or I'd have thrown it away. I didn't mean to, I didn't know._

"No he can't, and that's just how it is. Come on, let's try to figure this out. He's our problem after all."

His hands went lax, duffel bag slipping out of his grip and hitting the floor with a muffled thump.

_Problem?_

"Wait, what was that?"

"In the hall- "

"No way. Mikey?"

But by the time Leonardo stepped into the hallway- took in the wet sports bag abandoned outside the door and the wet trail on the carpet- the front door was swinging shut and Michelangelo was gone.


	2. Problem Child - Part 2

The park a few blocks away had a pretty cool jungle-gym, and even a pavilion with timed lights that came on after dark. Mikey's orange windbreaker was already soaked through, so he figured there was no real harm in wandering past the dry picnic tables and picking a swing to sit on instead.

It was silly to run off like he did. When he'd finally slowed down enough to catch his breath, his legs gone all wobbly from soccer practice and the stairs and then the break-neck run away from home, he had no clue what he was doing. Raph, Donnie and Leo were all he had in the entire world, he wasn't running anywhere if he was running away from them.

But they didn't need Mikey like Mikey needed them. He was their problem. Leo said so.

The four of them argued and fought all the time, and Raph sometimes said mean stuff to him but that was always  _to_ him, not  _about_ him. Not something Mikey listened to through a closed door when they didn't know he was home. That made it  _real._

"I didn't know," he said to the air and the rain and old rusty swingset. "I didn't know that's what I was. I didn't know things were so bad. Why didn't they just tell me?"

The street closest to his side of the park was still pretty busy, and the rushing cars and headlights were something to watch for a few minutes while Mikey's swing drifted scant inches back and forth. There was a scary stinging edge of hurt somewhere close to his heart, that he couldn't touch or it would rip open into something ugly.

So he didn't touch it; didn't think about it. Just watched the cars and headlights, and let his breathing get shallow, rapid, let his head cant to one side like it was full of air and Mikey was getting dizzy trying to hold it up.

_Why didn't they just tell me?_

When he heard his name called from somewhere far away, it sounded like he was listening from underwater. It took him ages to turn his head for a glance over his shoulder, and he'd know those green eyes anywhere, they were the only ones Mikey had ever seen that could pierce through the dark and rain like fireflies.

But somewhat dimly, Mikey recoiled from him for probably the first time in fourteen years. Lurching off his swing, he made it a whole two steps away before strong hands were spinning him bodily around, clutching his shoulders so hard it should have hurt.

"Mikey! Mikey, what is  _wrong_ with you? Would you- you're  _freezing,_ what were you  _thinking?_ What are you doing out here?"

"Swinging," Mikey answered truthfully, tugging at the hands locked around his arms. "Let go."

"What? No." He was dragged even closer instead, and Raph looked like he didn't know whether to be relieved or furious. "Donnie and Leo are on their way in the car. Why did you take off to go swinging? At night? In the  _rain?"_

Too many questions were making Mikey's head swim, and for some reason Raphael's words were all running and blurring together like watercolors. It was sort of annoying, especially since Mikey wanted answers, too; so he yanked away with a snap that hurt his shoulders and shouted, "Why didn't you  _tell me?"_

Surprise and anger filled Raph's eyes in unequal parts and his hands hovered where they'd been holding Mikey seconds before. "Are you delusional? Tell you  _what?"_ A sort of understanding cleared the cloudy confusion in his face, and he narrowed his stare at him. "Is this about your soccer team? You overheard us talking about the letter. Damn, Mikey, I knew it'd be disappointing, but this is a little much even for you."

 _"Soccer?"_ Mikey interrupted slowly, in the time it took his brain to translate through what felt like mud or ice in his head. When it did, he stared at Raph in stunned disbelief. "You... think it's about soccer? You think I'd run away from you because of a game?"

Something was making Raph's face go all scrunched and pale in worry the longer Mikey talked, like it did the time Leo broke his arm. "Mikey, you're white as a sheet. How am I just now seeing this." His hands shot out to grab Mikey's, and Mikey tugged away in belated irritation, but Raph was muttering quickly to himself now, voice pitching louder and lower, searching Mikey's face like reading a textbook. "Your hands are all clammy. Your skin is freezing, your eyes won't focus. Signs of- signs of- what is it, shock?"

Donnie had all but forced a do-it-yourself first aid course down their throats once. It came in handy now and then, and it was always sorta endearing to see Raph reaching earnestly out of his comfort zone, but weirdly enough Mikey wasn't in the mood for handy or endearing.

"Go  _away,_ Raph," he said sternly. "'m not your problem anymore." This time when he shoved his older brother away, Raph actually fell back a few steps.

"Mikey?"

He was breathing so hard and fast now it hurt, it was practically coming and going in pants, and Mikey pressed the heel of one hand against his sternum as he started away.

"Not your problem."

"What are you talking about?" Swift footsteps behind him propelled Mikey into a run for the one millionth time that night, a reflex his body fell to like a machine. "Mikey- hey, stop!  _Mikey!"_

 _Faster than you,_ Mikey thought with some backwards glee, before the texture underfoot changed abruptly from soft and giving to hard and slick, and a horn blared at the same time the entire world lit up from one side in a blinding white.

He was ripped back out of the street by a fist in his jacket, landing heavily on his butt in the grass, and the arms that locked around him would have felt like iron if iron shook so much. Mikey blinked slowly against a solid chest, while the world decided to just spin and spin, and finally Raph whispered, "What is  _wrong_ with you?"

"Dunno," Mikey answered honestly. "You won't tell me." After the moment it took to get his scrambled thoughts back into a mental omelet, he added, "I'm not your problem."

"You idiot," Raph told him with feeling, a rush of affection Mikey wasn't expecting and wasn't prepared for. His brother pushed their faces together with a hand cupped around the back of Mikey's head and just held him there, like he'd hold him forever. "Of course you are."

But somehow when Raph said it, it didn't sound like such a bad thing.


	3. Problem Child - Part 3

Mikey only vaguely remembering being picked up and carried. It seemed like one minute he was sitting in a puddle, and the next he was laying in the backseat of their old Sedan with his head pillowed on a corduroy-clad thigh.

"Donnie?" he asked, but his voice came out like sandpaper, and the hand he hadn't noticed carding through his hair went still.

"Yeah, it's me," Donatello said, and Mikey sighed, sinking more heavily against his brother and the seat. Thank goodness. Donnie would explain things- he  _loved_ explaining things. "You feeling okay?"

"Mmmn. Hey Donnie, why didn't you guys tell me?"

"He keeps  _saying_ that," a voice in the front snapped, and another hushed it. Mikey felt the hand on his hair move down to his chest, still rising and falling too fast like he'd just played FW for three straight hours without a break in the game. Pressing his hand over Mikey's jumping heartbeat, Donnie took a deep breath and let it out slowly, did it over and over until Mikey tried mimicking the slow, soothing swell and collapse of his brother's chest. After awhile, Donatello finally answered him.

"Tell you what, Mikey?"

"Anythin'." The combination of gentle hands and warmth and his name said so carefully had Mikey blinking through blurring tears. "I thought everything was okay."

His breaths were starting to come slow and deep all on their own, and as Donnie pushed the damp fringe out of his face, Mikey's eyelids drooped.

"I thought everything- "

"It will be," Donnie said firmly, the way he did when it was math or computers, when it was something he knew better than himself. "It will be, I promise."

Promises from Donnie were practically bulletproof, he was way too smart to get stuff wrong. It made Mikey feel better about closing his eyes.

"Donnie, how is he?"

"Exhausted. And probably developing a fever as we speak. But his breathing's normal and he finally stopped shaking."

"We're almost home. Just keep an eye on him."

"Like you even have to tell me. He's the only little brother I..."

* * *

When Mikey woke up, it was to stiffness and pain. It took him a full couple minutes to catalogue the aches in his body and decide he probably wouldn't die from how much his legs and head hurt.

"Feels like I got stomped on all over by a bunch of guys in Tiempo Legend Vs," he muttered, rubbing his face. "Nike doesn't mess around."

Speaking of cleats, Mikey wasn't wearing his. He wriggled his free toes from somewhere under piles of blankets, and realized he was a lot farther from the ceiling than he usually was in his top bunk.

Not quite brave enough to sit up yet, Mikey tipped his head carefully to one side and took in the room. The walls were lacking his and Raph's movie posters and comic pages, pinned up by thumbtacks and dollar store ninja stars. Instead there were a few framed certificates, a boat-load of photos, and a pretty wall-scroll.

_Leo and Donnie's room?_

Donnie was across the room in his bed, slumped sideways like he'd fallen asleep sitting up again, and Raph was dozing at the foot of Leo's, leaned against the wall with his arms folded and legs draped heavily over Mikey's.

It was the exact same thing he always did when Mikey had a nightmare, cause for some reason it just made Mikey feel whole worlds better. And just then it sorta made him wanna cry.

The desk chair squeaked a bit, and he glanced over in time to see Leo move closer to the bed, abandoning some papers and a pen as soon as he realized Mikey was awake. Leo's face looked pale and tired, but his eyes were the same sort of crisp blue as the sky on a sunny winter morning.

"Morning, buddy," he said, with one of those sideways smiles that could mean one or a hundred things depending on the day. "How do you feel? You look miserable."

He leaned into the hand that came down to feel his forehead, and murmured, "'m sorry for running away." How he  _felt_ could wait, because he was sorry and Leo needed to know right away. He should have stayed and  _asked_ , should have pushed open the door and asked what they meant before assuming the worst of the three best people in the world. Nobody could look at somebody the way Leo was looking at Mikey if they were just a problem.

"Don't ever do that to me again." Leo pushed the hair off his forehead fondly. "Donnie thinks you had a panic attack. You almost gave  _me_ one."

"Sorry," Mikey said again, crushed and plaintive, "sorry, Leo."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're home now. I do want to know what happened, but it can wait until you- "

"Heard you call me a problem." Leo froze, and Mikey went on cautiously, "I got home early, and- you were talking about my letter, and about all this other stuff I didn't know about, and this whole time I thought we were okay."

Leo got up and leaned over, the bed dipping with his weight as he sat down and pulled Mikey's head against his shoulder, arms folding securely around him like the best kind of armor in the world.

"So that's it," he muttered, sounding half-drowned in a weary, slow-burning chagrin that Mikey  _knew_  he was pointing at himself like a knife. But his voice was closer to normal when he continued, "That must have sounded awful. But you got the wrong impression, Mikey. You know we love you."

Mikey nodded against his shoulder. "I know. And you know I love you too, right?"

"Of course we do," was what Leo said, but he sounded relieved as he said it.  _Silly Leo._ "You're our baby brother, we don't keep stuff from you to hurt you. We just don't want you to worry." He gave Mikey a little nudge. "But I guess we went a little too far in the opposite direction, huh?"

"Maybe," Mikey quipped, just to hear Leo chuckle. Then he leaned back to look at him, trying to look as serious as he could. "With all that stuff, the money problems. I could help out, too! I could get like a paper route or something." When Leonardo didn't say anything right away, Mikey couldn't help the frown that tugged his mouth down. "I  _could._ I wanna help, Leo."

"Mikey, you  _do._ You do practically all the chores, you make breakfast- and dinner, too, on nights you don't have practice. There would be a mutiny within a week if Raph had to go without your scrambled egg tacos."

"True," muttered a not-as-asleep-as-Mikey-thought-he-was Raphael, not even bothering to open his eyes. Leo didn't look surprised, so Mikey was alone in gaping, then rolling his eyes super hard at the ceiling.  _I should've figured Raph was faking. It's_ Raph.

"The point is, I dunno what we'd do without you around here," Leo said, sounding- to Mikey's surprise- like he really meant it. Which didn't make sense, since none of that stuff Leo mentioned was especially helpful, it was just stuff Mikey did anyway. He blinked a few times, thrown for a loop. Didn't understand why Raph opened his eyes to take a sharp look at Mikey's face, and then shoved a hand through his hair and  _sighed_ like he was angry or tired or sad.

"But... I could help  _more."_

"We'll talk about it," Leo conceded. "Promise. But for right now, you need to get some rest, okay? And Mikey," he tapped two fingers under Mikey's chin gently to hold his attention, blue eyes as serious as his youngest brother had ever seen them, "you  _are_ my problem, till the day I die. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Got it?"

Mikey nodded, and smiled when Raph patted his knee with a taciturn fondness Mikey wouldn't know how to live without. "Got it."

"Good. Now go to sleep." He was pushed back down carefully, and watched as Leo moved his chair back to the desk. Behind him Donnie sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand, and got up to clumsily cross the room to Leo's bed.

He climbed in next to him and Mikey shuffled over to make room, meeting sleepy brown eyes curiously as Donnie draped an arm over him.

"Everything okay?"

He could feel the weight of two of his brothers on him, and the watchful eyes of the third. Leo promised they'd talk about it, and Raph wasn't mad. Beaming, Mikey whispered, "Yeah."

"Told you so."


	4. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 1

Mikey was scanning the cafeteria for one of his brothers when he collided bodily with someone headed in the opposite direction. He didn't even have a chance to catch his bag before the larger student was punching him in the shoulder, hard enough he winced, and biting a sharp, "Watch it, freshman!"

"Oh man, movie cliché alert," Mikey said with round eyes, rubbing his newly sore arm; Raph always said he never knew when to shut up. Sure enough, the older boy scowled darkly. Mikey raised an eyebrow at him in return. He knew how to take down guys bigger than him, easy. It would take two moves max, but he was at school,  _seriously_ not the time.

Before he could try to deescalate the situation, a certain sixth sense tugged at the back of his mind. He turned, feeling cool tendrils of dread.

_Ohhh, no._

Raphael's eyes were sharp like cut steel, and he stood up in that slow way that made him tower a hundred feet tall. Mikey pressed his lips together anxiously, and shuffled his feet a bit. Of  _course_ he'd find his brothers  _now._

Mikey wasn't scared of Raphie, no way. But it was real bad news when he looked like that. And he'd already gotten a suspension before, about a year ago, for trashing some people who'd broken Donnie's then half-built computer. It was a big enough deal that Donnie had actually cried in frustration, and after that Raph told his brothers he just saw  _red_.

 _Should I try to save the jerk?_ Mikey wondered in the two seconds he had to spare, and scooted a half-step between the bully and the oncoming storm as Raph stalked towards them.

"Mikey," Raph said without sparing him a glance, and there was no arguing with  _that_ tone. Mikey fell away again on autopilot, twisting his fingers. He blinked when he felt an arm fall across his shoulders, and glanced up and to the side to find Donatello frowning darkly over his head.

"Donnie, we gotta stop 'im," Mikey whispered, but Donnie told him to hush and just kept him tucked against his side.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Raphael was saying pleasantly. "Bradford, right? It's just- I  _thought_ I saw you pop my baby brother. Is that what I saw?"

"Back off, Hamato," the guy said, face a little paler now, "I'm not looking for trouble- "

"Are you  _sure?"_ Raph moved closer, poison green eyes slitted and furious. "Cause you found it  _real_ easy."

"Raph, come on," Mikey said, reaching past Donnie for him. Raph still didn't look over, but Mikey could feel the change in his attention, the shifting of all his fields of awareness to account for his little brother's hand on his arm. "It's not worth it, right? It's doesn't matter _,_ so let's just- "

For whatever reason, Donatello's arm tightened around his shoulders, and Raph's eyes flicked over to meet Mikey's, burning like real fire.

"What?"

Most of the cafeteria was watching the altercation with interest; and Michelangelo wasn't embarrassed by his brothers at  _all,_ he loved when they hugged and patted and coddled him, at home  _and_ at school, didn't matter! But he knew better than he thought his brothers thought he did that he embarrassed  _them_ sometimes. Little brothers just did that, Mikey was learning, and that's how it was. He figured he should try to spare them when he could, like right now.

"Everyone's looking," he tried, blinking at the intensity of both his brothers' eyes on him at once. "All your friends are- "

"Teacher's coming," Donatello said shortly, and Raph's hand shot out like a bullet, grabbing the guy by the front of his varsity jacket.

"Touch him, talk to him,  _look at him_ again," he said quietly, "and you'll wake up breathing through a tube. I promise."

And with that, he shoved Bradford away so hard it caused him to stumble and cough harshly. Mikey didn't like him, he was a jerk, but he hovered to make sure the jerk was okay. Or he would have, if his brothers hadn't herded him away.

"Guys," Mikey started, but Donnie shook his head in a really familiar  _'just be quiet, Mikey'_ kinda way.

So he huffed, and met a few curious glances as they passed through the cafeteria. No one tried to speak up even to say "see ya later," and Mikey really hoped his brothers hadn't scared any of their friends away cause of him.

"But it's raining," Mikey whined half-heartedly when they headed out the back doors, already seeking out a puddle to jump in; but Donnie's arm was like an iron bar around his shoulders as they made their way to the pavilion and he didn't get to make a splash.  _Lame._

And neither of them were talking as Raph dumped his bookbag on a picnic table at random. A little uneasily, Mikey asked, "Ammm I in trouble?"

"Yeah," Raph said shortly. "Definitely."

Crestfallen, Mikey looked up at Donnie for confirmation, and got a rueful smile. "No puppy-dog eyes, Mikey. This is important."

"Would you just explain one thing to me?" Raph said suddenly, rounding on him, and the steel from his eyes was in his voice now. He never talked to Mikey like that  _ever_ , and Mikey felt himself hunker a little. "Just- explain to me how it  _isn't worth it."_

"Huh?"

"When some asshole is shoving you around- how does that  _not matter?"_

"Cause it doesn't," he said slowly. "It was just a bully."

"He was gonna hurt you," Donnie reminded him helpfully. "That doesn't matter?"

"I could kick his butt myself, dudes,  _obviously_. But he's not a  _bad guy,_ he's just a bad guy." Mikey blinked. "Wait, I mean- he's not like a crook or whatever, he's just a jerk. He can't  _really_ hurt me, you know? But if I fought back, I'd  _really_ hurt him." He could feel the tension in Donnie's arm around him ebb away, and beamed up at Raph in hopes he'd understand too. "He can push me around all he wants if it makes him feel better. I don't mind."

Raph didn't hesitate to move then, cupping Mikey's face in one rough hand. He even bent forward a little, so they were eye to eye, and brushed a thumb over Mikey's cheekbone. As Mikey blinked at him, something in his big brother's hard face softened just barely.

"But I do. You're my problem, kid."

Mikey leaned into Raph's hand, covering it with one of his own. So they were still on pins and needles about the misunderstanding of a week or so ago; realizing that had everything making sense.

And letting his big brothers take care of him was the best way Mikey could take care of them back. So he smiled warmly, and nodded once; rewarded, when Raphael didn't pull his hand away.

"And we're still telling Leo," Donnie added, cueing a prompt nod from Raph, and they both grinned when Mikey groaned.

* * *

At the end of the day, Mikey got to ride home with Raph cause Donnie was staying late to work in the science lab. He caught the orange helmet Raphael tossed at him with a grin, and waved at a few giggling girls from his homeroom when they called out his name and a friendly goodbye.

"Alright, heartbreaker, hop on," Raphael said gruffly, with that warm, fond something in his voice that made the whole entire world a better place as far as Mikey was concerned. He clambered up behind his brother on the old red motorcycle and wrapped his arms around Raph's waist as hard as he could; laughing when Raph snapped, "Not that tight, you dork."

And as Raph kicked back the stand and started the engine with a roar, Mikey felt eyes on his back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that guy- Bradford- standing on the sidewalk watching him.

He smiled ruefully when Mikey met his eyes, and his lips moved silently in a "Sorry," that sort of blew Mikey's mind. He stared at the older classman and all his apparent contrition in actual open-mouthed surprise, jumping a little when the motorcycle started moving. Clutching Raph's shirt, Mikey twisted to watch Bradford until he was out of view.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Uhh." He turned forward again, head resting between Raph's shoulder blades, mind spinning at a hundred miles an hour. "Yeah. Yeah, totally."

_I think._


	5. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 2

His algebra teacher kept him after the bell so they could talk about how crappy he was at math, and now Mikey had like five minutes to get to his next class. Weaving through the crowd in B wing, he slid the last few feet to his locker and yanked it open.

"What the- ohh,  _jeez_."

Flowers.  _Lots_ of flowers.

Mikey stared at them in dismay. His locker was rigged at the handle to stay unlocked, courtesy of Donnie, so it would have been easy for someone to cram a bunch flowers inside but-  _why?_ If it was a joke, whoever was behind it had to have shelled out a lot of money for a bouquet that massive. Mikey would have stopped to give this prankster major kudos but he was in a hurry, and sort of still bummed about math, and his psychology textbook was definitely somewhere behind all that plastic and crepe paper.

Dropping his bag at his feet, Mikey started the undertaking of extracting the bouqet without scattering petals and confetti all over the place, starting to wonder- as he got a closer look at how pretty and fancy it was- if someone had crammed it in his locker by mistake.

_Wait a minute, duh!_

"Maybe they're for Raph or Don!" he exclaimed, looking at the flowers in a new light. The lockers were assigned at the beginning of the year by alphabetical order all the way down the student roster, so Mikey's was right smack inbetween his brothers'. It could have totally been an honest mistake.

He leaned into the locker to get his arm behind the flowers, feeling around near the stems for a card; grinning when his fingers met stock paper. "Gotcha."

He heard his name called from down the hall, and glanced up. Donnie was on his way over with some books under his arm, and Mikey waved back cheerfully. His mood was like twenty times better now that he had the inside scoop on a  _crush._ Flipping the card over eagerly, he scanned the short handwritten note for a signature.

And felt his stomach drop all the way down to his feet.

_Yours, Chris Bradford._

"-glad I got Mrs. Arnolds to sign a pass for me, because there's no way I was gonna make it to study hall by the time... Mikey?"

Mikey jumped, and slammed his locker shut before Donnie had the chance to see around the door. The sound was almost unbelievably loud in the near-empty hallway, and Donatello stared at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, definitely. I'm awesome."

But his fingers were clenched too tight around the card, probably bending it all out of shape, mind racing. When the bell rang Mikey started so badly he banged his elbow against the locker, then had to curl around his arm miserably.

"...Are you  _sure?"_

Donnie's brown eyes were way too sharp in the way they studied Mikey's face, his mouth tugged into a severe frown. He was way too smart for his own good-  _proving_ it when his gaze dropped to Mikey's fist.

Mikey shoved the card into his hoodie pocket and scooped his bag off the floor.

" _Way_ sure. So hey, I'm late for psych, I gotta- "

His brother caught him by the shoulder before he could caper off, walking around to stand in front of him.

" _Donnieee,_ I'm late! I have to go to class. And learn and stuff."

"Who do you think you're telling?" Donatello smiled ruefully and opened his arms. "I could use a hug before you do, though. I'm kinda overdue for one."

At that, everything else on Mikey's mind fell to the wayside because holy cow, Donnie was  _asking_ for a hug. And actually, yeah- he totally  _was_ overdue! So Mikey grinned, and had to jump a little to throw his arms around Donnie's neck, but his brother caught him easy and hugged him back just as hard.

Hugs were  _awesome_. Mikey felt ten pounds lighter already.

When he trotted off to A wing, it was with a smile on his face and those flowers at the back of his mind. Or he probably would have noticed the card missing from his pocket a lot sooner.

* * *

Sitting in psychology, there were two big, huge, major things on Mikey's mind.

The first thing was that his stupid genius brother was a stupid dirty pickpocket. 'Overdue for a hug,' just  _wow_. And Mikey fell for that!

And the second thing- what the heck was Bradford doing buying him a bouquet? Did he have connections at a boutique or something? Maybe a friend could have got him those flowers cheap or whatever and they thought it'd be funny to mess with Mikey's head that way.

But... leaving flowers for someone wasn't exactly bullying, was it?

Mikey had never stared at the whiteboard harder in his entire life, a thoughtful frown on his face. Drumming his fingers on the teacher's edition textbook he was borrowing for the period from Mr. Scorseby, since  _his_ textbook was still in his locker buried under like forty bucks of flowers.

 _This is the weirdest day of my_ life _._

He didn't learn anything about lobotomy, not even close, and when the bell rang he shoved everything into his bag, abandoned Mr. Scorseby's book at his desk, and hurried for the door.

 _First_ he had to yell at Donnie, because taking advantage of brother-hugs was just uncool, and then maybe when he was done yelling Mikey would ask what him what  _he_  thought of the card. Cause Dr. Prankenstein himself was drawing a blank.

Mikey skidded into B wing and charged toward their lockers; he was gonna wait for his brother and pick his brain a little bit, in a completely different way than doctors of the early 20th century- wow, maybe he did learn something.

But about two seconds later Mikey remembered one very crucial piece of information:

_Donnie and Raph have study hall together._

And there was Raphael, leaned against the locker wall with his arms folded; Donnie was next to him, studying something in the palm of his hand- probably Mikey's card- with a frustrated crease in his brow.

Of  _course_ Don showed Raph. And if they were both there, when neither of them even had a class in B wing, then they were there to gang up on Mikey. Again.

Before he could decide if he should walk into the snake pit and get lectured for something he didn't even do, or bail on the rest of this stupid day and just lay on a couch in the library for the last two hours, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

At this point, he wasn't surprised to see Chris Bradford when he turned around; the catalyst himself for all the current weirdness in Mikey's life, in that archetypical varsity jacket every tall handsome guy seemed to have four of, with dark blue eyes and a nervous smile.

"Hey," the senior said, looking as out of his depth as Mikey felt, "can we talk?"

Well, that would be the easiest way to get to the bottom of all this, wouldn't it? The youngest Hamato stared up at him, then glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. They hadn't seen him yet.

_What's the worst that could happen?_

"Sure," Mikey said.


	6. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 3

"Do you wanna maybe hang out later?"

Mikey tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing a tiny bit in concentration- maybe he hadn't heard that right.

"Hang out?"

But no, sure enough- Bradford rubbed an embarrassed hand through his hair and laughed sort of nervously. "Shit. I mean- man, you know. Hang out. See a movie or something. There's a cool skate park downtown. And you skate, don't you?"

Considering that Mikey had gone into this with the intention of getting answers and all he had to show for it was about twenty-two new questions (hang out? see a movie? how does he know I  _skate_?) he entertained the idea that talking to Bradford  _possibly_ wasn't the best move after all.

"I don't think that's a good plan," he said, offering a what-can-you-do smile and shrug combo. "Since, you know, my brothers don't- "

"Screw your brothers," the older boy said, a little too sharply despite the playful expression on his face, and Mikey frowned darkly at him. "Oh- no, I didn't mean- that's not what I meant."

"Sure it isn't. The answer's no, dude."

A quick peek past the running back proved Raph and Donnie were right where Mikey left them last time he checked; but once they realized passing period was almost over they'd start looking for him. Bradford's time was up.  _Hey, at least I gave the guy a chance._

He'd only made it about 2.5 steps away before he felt a hand on his arm. Mikey turned around in honest bewilderment- there were plenty of teachers milling the hall was he really going to do this  _here?_  But Bradford was grinning crookedly at him, and let him go.

"Well, I hope you change your mind and meet me by the auditorium after school. Or I'll have to come over to your place and pick you up."

" _What?"_ Mikey stared at him, stunned. _"_ Do you even know where I live? And do you have like a legitimate death wish or something? If you come to my house, Raphael will  _murder you."_

"And do you really want that on your conscience?"

"Don't make it my fault!" But Bradford looked smug and certain, and like he absolutely wouldn't budge on his trainwreck of an idea, and behind him farther down the hall Raph and Donnie were starting to scan the crowd and Mikey had about five seconds before his day became a hundred times more terrible.  _Oh,_ man. "Okay fine auditorium after school now _make like a ninja!"_

And then he hid in the library for the rest of the day after all, like a ninja; sitting at the librarian's desk and half-heartedly punching holes in stacks of papers and avoiding any and all eye contact just in case it would lead to something else weird. Mikey hadn't gotten a single question answered and now everything was  _worse._  He had a ton of flowers in his locker, two snoopy brothers on his case, and a weird guy date with the  _same_ guy Raph would happily push into traffic.

_I've heard high school was tough, but man... I had no idea._

* * *

Somehow Mikey evaded his brothers the whole way across school, but that wouldn't last forever. He hopped from foot to foot outside the double doors, sort of obsessively checking his phone, and leapt a mile in the air when someone touched his shoulder from behind.

"Wow, edgy much?"

Well  _that_  wasn't Bradford.

"Casey?" Mikey groaned, pressing a hand to his heart and trying to calm down his nerves at least a little; he seriously should not be this jumpy, it was probably bad for his brain or something. "You scared the heck out of me, dude!"

Casey Jones was Raphael's best friend, and as good as family as far as Mikey was concerned. And by now, even with no real family of his own to practice on, Casey had the big brother routine down pat- and proved it, by raising an eyebrow and asking, "What are you doin' way out here anyway? Raph's completely on the other side of the parking lot."

"Oh. Uhh.  _Well._ Funny story. True story! You  _see-_ " A car honking cut him off, and both boys glanced up as a tired old station wagon pulled up to the curb. Bradford leaned over from the driver's side to peer through the passenger's side window and wave.  _Oh, no,_ Mikey thought at the exact same time he pasted a bright smile to his face. "Actually, there's my ride! Catcha on the flip-flop, C-Jones!"

But he was having awful luck today, because Casey decided to make himself the third person to grab Mikey before he could get away. And the senior's eyes were narrowed and hostile over Mikey's head, his fingers curling around Mikey's elbow.

"What are you doing with  _Chris Bradford?"_

_How many people does Bradford tick off in a day?_

"He wouldn't leave me alone till I said I'd hang out with him today." Mikey blinked up at Casey's angry face. He never got to see it often, since Casey was always grinning or laughing when they played cards or watched movies together- but there was a reason he and Raph got along so well, and it was probably because they could both turn scary at the drop of a hat. "So, whatever. It'll probably be lame."

"Wait- wouldn't leave you alone? Mikey, what the heck is going on?"

 _Yikes, everyone's touchy today._ Mikey extracted his arm gently, and patted Casey's shoulder. "I'm fine, dude! Seriously.  _Please_  don't worry."

Casey reached out like he'd grab Mikey back a second later, but the youngest Hamato was already climbing into the passenger seat, hissing,  _"Drive."_ And trying not to feel guilty when Casey called his name from the sidewalk as Bradford drove away.

"Looks like you've got a whole army at your beck and call," he said when they were pulling out of the parking lot. Mikey didn't quite understand the edge to his voice, so he shrugged.

"Not really. I have a lot of friends, I guess, if that's what you mean."

Bradford made a quiet, "Huh," sound, and Mikey rolled his eyes out his window. This was gonna be a  _long_ car ride.

His phone went off, loud and proud, and he yanked it out of his hoodie pocket.  _Only a matter of time,_ he thought, checking the caller I.D. and reading Raphie's number. Bradford raised an eyebrow at him when he groaned with gusto.

"Who is it?" he asked casually, and Mikey snorted.

"Who do you think?" He declined the call, sent a quick text-  _im fine, be home for dinner, love u-_ and then set the ringer to silent and slid his phone back into his back pocket. "Okay, you know what- if you're seriously gonna try to  _drive_ all the way to wherever we're going, I don't think I can deal." Mikey rolled his window down and stuck most of his upper body out of it to get a good look at the traffic. "It'll take us an hour to make it down the block! Why did you take Main? Do you  _ever_ drive in the city?"

The older kid looked both annoyed and embarrassed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Not really. But the YMCA is only a few blocks from where we're at now- "

"Cool great, then pull over and we'll walk!" Mikey unsnapped his seatbelt, patting the interior panels of the car impatiently. "Let's go, let's go. Seriously, there's like three hour parking right there. Raph would never park his bike here, but no one's gonna try to steal your car. Sorry, dude."

And that was pretty much how they ended up walking through Chinatown. Now that they were actually out and about, Mikey was having like twenty times more fun than Bradford was. He only lasted maybe five minutes before he fished some change out of his bookbag and bought a bag of dumplings because  _wow so good._ Bradford was being boring, with his hands in his pockets and his head down, but Mikey refused to be rushed. He  _loved_ Chinatown.

"Y'should try some o' these," he said through a mouthful of dumpling. Then swallowed and added, "Well, not  _these._ But if you wanted to run back and get some of your own, I would totally wait."

"No, I'm good. Are you sure this is the right way?"

"Duh, it's a shortcut." Mikey crumpled his sack and shot it into a trash can as they passed by. "Hah, ten points! Hey but, why are we going to the YMCA? I thought you said skating or movies."

"Oh. Uh, we're gonna meet up with some of my buds there."

"Really? What for?" Bradford looked at him sort of weirdly, but Mikey stopped listening two seconds later. Stopped walking, too, head canting to one side as he focused intently. "Hey, did you hear something?"

"We're in like a huge crowd right now, what  _something_ do you- "

 _That's a cat,_ Mikey thought with a cool rush of concern, and took off towards the high-pitched wail when it started up again. Bradford shouted, and maybe hurried to follow him-  _he doesn't know where we're at,_ Mikey remembered distantly,  _so he'll be lost if he loses me._

But none of that mattered, because when Mikey slid to a stop in the mouth of an alley, it was to find three guys and one little orange cat. And as Mikey watched, chest heaving, one of the guys upended a plastic bottle over the cat's back, causing it to  _shriek_ as whatever was inside the bottle burned through its fur.

Then Mikey was running again, legs pumping with all the trained muscle of a striker, pulling and shoving his way through to the poor little kitty and not hesitating to use his elbows where he had to. He didn't make any friends doing it, and all three of the jerks were cursing or shouting at him, but Mikey finally made it to the cat and scooped it up as carefully as he could. It flinched and cried again, and Mikey petted its head with a gentle finger while his heart broke into a million pieces.

"You guys  _suck_ ," he told the perfect strangers with almost actual  _hatred_. "What the heck are you trying to prove, picking on a tiny cat? Does this make you  _cool_ guys? What is it, like, monster initiation, or an evil scavenger hunt? "Find the cutest, most harmless thing ever and make it suffer as hard as you can!" Is that  _fun_ for you?"

"Listen to the mouth on this kid," the tallest of the four said with, and when he folded his arms Mikey had the perfect view of a dragon tattoo coiling up the length of his arm to bear spitting fangs at the ball of his shoulder.  _Lame._ "Where the hell did you even come from, runt?"

"Mind your own business," he replied smartly, and watched the three men trade incredulous glances. Fight-or-flight  _I'm in trouble I'm in trouble_ was a conga line in his chest cavity somewhere, but Mikey had a wheezing kitty in his arms to worry about.

Way behind the dragon-guys, Bradford was white-faced and stock-still in the mouth of the alley- and the second Mikey met his eyes, the football player flinched, took a step back, and then turned away and ran.

_Bailed._

Mikey would totally be bringing that up at school tomorrow.

 _If,_ he thought, as he was grabbed by the scruff of his jacket and thrown up against a broken brick wall, curling his arms around the orange cat protectively and glaring through his bangs at three leering faces,  _I make it to school tomorrow._


	7. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 4

For as long as Mikey could remember, Leo was always  _really_ brave.

When they were younger and they never seemed to stay in the same place for more than a day or two- when they spent a lot of time after school on doorsteps and behind vacant buildings around Chinatown- Leo was the oldest, and Leo was responsible for them, and Leo was  _brave._  He was brave when the man who would become their father first approached them on a cold afternoon with warm food and warm coats and a kind offer. And he was brave when their father got sick six years later and passed away.

He put his sorrow on a shelf, got a job, and took care of his family the way he  _always_ had, because he was the bravest ever.

So when he was scared- really, really scared- Mikey thought of Leo.

"Sorry dude, kitty's off-limits," he told the dragon-man with a shrug, in a voice that didn't shake. The cat in his arms was purring so hard Mikey could feel it through his hoodie, its tiny claws curled into his sleeves like it  _knew_ where its only hope was _._ "But if you need to whale on somebody, I'm your guy."

Dragon-guy didn't need any more encouragement than that, and pulled back his arm.

Raph used to always come home pretty beat up, and Mikey had spent a million long hours of his childhood with an icepack and his brother's head on a pillow in his lap. Raph never ever said what happened or where he went, but Leo always seemed to know already and Donnie always figured it out, so it was only Mikey who wondered.

 _He must have saved so many cats,_ Mikey realized, in the seconds following the rock solid connection of fist-to-face, where his eye sort of felt like it was going to explode. Thank goodness he was standing against the wall, or he probably would have fallen over. He wanted to push his hand against the throbbing pain but that would mean un-hugging the scared kitty.  _Raph'll understand._

It was just the one guy, the other two hadn't joined in yet, but three punches later and Mikey felt like the biggest loser on the planet because it  _hurt_ and he was  _not_ going to cry or anything but he wasn't gonna be the hero he pictured in his head, either. He was only still on his feet thanks to some awesome balance and the wall at his back, and he couldn't really see out of one eye, and his mouth tasted coppery which couldn't be good.

But kitty was purring so loud, and any guys that needed to hurt little animals to feel strong weren't the type of guys Mikey would lose to. So he folded his aching face into a glare when the dragon-guy took a step back.

"You must be  _exhausted_. Good thing you're not beating kids and cats up all by yourself! Tap out, dude."

"You don't know when to shut up, do you?" the skinny guy said, looking more frustrated than angry. Mikey shrugged, teetering a little.

"My brother says the same thing."

When the third dragon cracked his knuckles like a 70s movie bad guy, Mikey had to steel himself not to flinch away. He stroked kitty's head, thought of Leo, and wondered if Leo would be proud of him or disappointed.

"I won't tell him he's who I thought of," Mikey whispered to the cat. It meowed back, and he glanced up at the approaching guy with resignation and a headache. "Just in case."

"Hey."

The voice at the mouth of the alley was an unfamiliar one; even the dragons whipped around, and Mikey peered around the closest to get a glimpse of the speaker, curiosity easily taking a front seat in Mikey's brain despite the current situation.

"Woah," he whispered, widening the eye that wasn't in danger of falling out. The guy coming towards their merry little group was  _huge._ Like, two feet taller than Mikey, easy, but not that much older. He was dressed in dark leather that did sort of nothing in the way of keeping his muscles a secret- dude was  _built._

"What the hell do want?" skinny dragon snapped- probably not the best move, from the way leather guy narrowed dark green eyes at him.

And then, so fast it would still be blowing Mikey's mind a week from now, leather guy grabbed the bigger dragon by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the wall so hard he just- slid to the ground. Everything went still and silent and the green-eyed stranger said, "I want the kid."

_Uh..._

_Am I saved or screwed?_

* * *

"You totally surprised me, showing up like that," Mikey said cheerfully, about an hour later. He was at Mr. Murakami's eating  _delicious_ (free) gyoza while the kind blind storeowner washed out kitty's fur with warm water and Leather wrapped ice cubes up in a dishtowel. "But I'd probably definitely be in the hospital by now if you hadn't."

"Sit still," the older kid said, and pressed the ice over Mikey's eye without much more warning than that. Mikey yelped and would have jerked away if Leather hadn't anticipated him; his other hand curled around the back of Mikey's head. "Your face is going to look like a purple balloon tomorrow."

"Promise?" the youngest Hamato quipped, and grinned when Leather's mouth twitched. "But seriously, though, thanks."

"Have you called your brothers, Michelangelo?" Mr. Murakami asked a few minutes later. And he may have been blind, but he must have felt it in the air when Mikey froze. "Perhaps you should let them know what happened before you make your way home, and spare them worry."

"They worry anyway," Mikey muttered, slipping his phone out and unlocking the screen. "Twelve missed calls," he recited with cold dread, "and four voicemails. Ohh,  _man."_

He took over holding the icepack to his face as he put the phone to his ear, and gestured with his elbow for Leatherhead to try some of the gyoza. "It's a special recipe he came up with for me and my brothers," he said and scooted over some chopsticks with his elbow next. "Try a bite, and you'll never want to eat anything else ever a- hi, Leo."

 _"Mikey, hey."_ His brother sounded exhaustively relieved. " _Are you okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm totally fine- I sent Raph a text, I told him I would be home by- "

_"No, I know, you did. But... apparently you've been having problems with someone at school, and Casey told Raph you left with him today. It had everyone on edge."_

"I wasn't having  _problems,_ " Mikey protested weakly. Leonardo sounded upset over the phone- in that quiet, understated Leo way- and it made Mikey feel guilty six ways to Sunday. "I bumped into him, he got mad, Raph threatened his good health, he apologized, and- uh- " He shuffled his feet nervously. "And left flowers in my locker."

At the same time Leather gave him a sharp, sidelong look- that Mikey couldn't take completely seriously since he had like five pieces of gyoza crammed in his mouth- Leonardo's voice dropped like a hundred degrees into Antarctical levels as he said,  _"Raph mentioned the flowers."_

 _Woah, dangerzone._ "But- but yeah so anyway, that happened, and then he wanted to hang out."

_"And you- just went with him?"_

"No, I said  _no._ Come on, Leo. I only ended up going because Bradford said he'd come over and pick me up if I didn't meet him, and if he  _had_ then Raph would be in jail right now." He moved the icepack away without thinking and almost instantly a hand was on his wrist, guiding it back again. Mikey made sure to roll his eyes at him, but Leather hadn't even looked up from his plate to do it. "...Are you a Jedi?"

Leather snorted and Leo said,  _"What?"_

"No, not you, I was talking to Leatherhead."

_"Leatherhead?"_

"Leatherhead?" Mikey's new green-eyed friend parroted at the same time, and Mikey nodded like it was obvious.

"Yup, and he's Mr. Murakami approved. He's eating pizza gyoza right now, dude, that's how approved he is. And he totally saved the day today! Like, my own personal friendly neighborhood Super-Leather. He came out of nowhere, all like  _hyah!_ and those loser dragons didn't even- "

 _"Dragons?"_ Leo's voice cut through his like the sharp edge of a sword he once owned, and Mikey's mouth clicked shut at his big brother's furious tone.  _"As in members of the Purple Dragons gang? Mikey, I swear- you have a_ lot  _of explaining to do. I'm on my way to get you, so don't move."_

"He's gonna kill me," Mikey said the moment he laid his phone down. Mr. Murakami responded by placing a bundle of fluffy towel and kitty in his arms, and Leather by taking the icepack away and replacing it with a fork.

"Better get your last meal in, then."


	8. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 5

"You said you were  _totally fine."_

Leo looked livid, standing in the doorway of Mr. Murakami's with his keychain clenched so tightly in his fist that Mikey was distantly afraid for the keys. The youngest Hamato waffled, shrinking under Leonardo's angry eyes.

"I  _am_ fine, Leo," he said timidly, and if Leo was any less grown-up he probably would have outright growled at him. Somewhat bravely- maybe it was leftover  _yay-I'm-not-dead_ from the showdown in the alley, who knew- Mikey soldiered on, "No, really! It looks way worse than it is!"

"I don't want to hear it. Go get in the car."

 _Oh,_ Mikey thought with real dismay,  _he's really mad._

Sinking through the floor and disappearing forever wasn't exactly an option, even though Mikey had never wished for it harder in his life. He watched Leo walk over to Mr. Murakami, speaking quietly in Japanese, and shot a quick glance over at Leatherhead and the tuckered out orange cat dozing in the crook of his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Mikey called, "Um- hey, Leo? What about kitty?"

Leonardo's blue eyes were so sharp when he glanced over, Mikey instantly regretted asking at all.

"We can't have cats in our apartment, I've told you that a hundred times."

Mikey flinched.

After  _everything_ that happened, Leo being mean was the apex of terrible things. Even if Mikey  _did_ deserve it. Which, actually, he wasn't sure he did! It's not like he _asked_ those creeps to beat up on a cat, and once he saw them at it what was he supposed to do, pretend he didn't? It didn't work like that, and Mikey  _had_ to help even if he got a little bit hurt.

 _Leo would have helped, too,_  Mikey thought glumly, feeling stupidly hurt by the whole thing.  _He always says do the right thing, and I did._

Kitty meowed at him, and he shuffled over to stroke her head. "What am I gonna do now, kitty?" he asked it softly. "I gotta find you someplace to go."

"I'll take her."

Out of his peripheral vision, Mikey saw Leo turn quickly in their direction, but his brother was sort of suddenly the last thing on his mind; because Leatherhead was watching him with kind, calm eyes, and glad warmth expanded in Mikey's chest like a balloon.

"Really?" Mikey felt a grin pull at the corners of his mouth when Leatherhead nodded once. "You mean it?"

"Sure. My landlord loves cats. He wouldn't mind my keeping her until we figured something out." His gaze dropped from Mikey's face to the animal sleeping in the cradle of his hands, and he didn't speak for a moment. Then, looking up, his eyes roamed over Mikey's achey face for moment before he said, "I'd like to help you."

And just like that, the awful day- his bad grades in math, and the stupid flowers, and Chris Bradford, and his furious big brother- didn't seem  _that_ awful after all. Not when he had an awesome, super cool, cat-loving new friend. Mikey wasted no time in gleefully snatching a pen from behind the counter and scribbling his number out on a napkin.

"Text me  _constantly_ and lemme know how she's doing! And, I can come by sometimes and see her, right? And help with stuff. Maybe I can volunteer at an animal shelter in exchange for kitty food! D'you think they'd do that? Is there a shelter in Flushing? Doesn't even matter, I'll definitely help however I- "

Leatherhead took the napkin with a really patient expression while Mikey rambled, and then reached over and picked up the drippy makeshift icepack, pressing it to the side of Mikey's mouth until Mikey tapered off and lifted a hand to hold it there himself.

"Your lip split again. You talk too much."

It was probably his way of saying  _Okay._ So Mikey beamed, and actually remembered to  _say_ goodbye to Mr. Murakami on his way out the door instead of wave it.

Then he was alone with Leo, who couldn't even seem to look at him, and his cheer slid away pretty fast.  _Oh, yeah. I'm in trouble._

But when he started to open the passenger side door of the Sedan, Leo reached over his shoulder and pressed a hand against the door to keep it shut. Mikey blinked up at him, and when Leo gestured silently, realized exactly what was coming. He turned completely around, lifting his arms and stringing them around Leo's neck when his oldest brother crushed him in a hug.

"I really am okay," he said once a few moments had gone by.

Leo's arms wrapped even tighter, and Mikey hugged him back as hard as he could. Wondering why it suddenly seemed like Leo was a hundred miles away from angry, and a lot closer to  _scared._

But he brushed the idea away almost as quickly as it had occurred to him in the first place. Leo  _never_ got scared.

* * *

"...and then he practically carried me to Mr. Murakami's cause I  _suck_ at getting beat up, I was all  _bluhhh,_  and then we ate gyoza. And that's literally everything that happened."

Mikey was sitting at the kitchen table with Raphael to his immediate right, pressing a huge square bandage to Mikey's cheek. It had robots on it,  _awesome._

"I can't believe you picked a fight with the Purple Dragons." Donnie was white-faced and staring, eyes stuck to Mikey's face and all its current puffy grossness. Usually when he lectured Don got pretty impressively noisy, but his voice was down between whispering and talking normal and didn't get any louder. "How could you  _ever_ think that was okay?"

"I told you, they had a cat," Mikey replied, sitting back in his chair. He drew one leg up and braced his heel on the edge of the seat, hugging his knee. "They were beating a poor tiny little cat. You would have done the same thing."

Donnie hesitated, still pale and uncertain, and Raphael's face was dark and resigned as he closed the first aid kit. When he shoved it over to Leonardo their oldest brother silently got up to put it away, and Mikey watched him go- sort of wishing they'd all start shouting at him instead of this quiet thing they were doing.

"I'm okay," he attempted, despite the given success rate of those words sitting at a rock solid -30%. Sure enough, none of the pinched worry left Don's expression and Raph just looked at him. "I really am! And- hey, Raphie- now I'm just like you!"

He was hoping Raph would snort or scowl or smack him or  _something._ Not just sit there, looking at him like he was something awful and ugly and sad.

"No you're not," he said with absolute certainty, and Mikey reached for him instinctively before the words had a chance to sting, because Raph sounded _really_ hurt and Mikey hadn't meant to hurt him at  _all._ But then Don was looking up cause Leo was back and Raph was moving away and Mikey let his hands fall in his lap.

"Hey, Mikey, why don't you lay down on the couch for awhile."

Leo didn't sound half as angry as he did at Mr. Murakami's, but that would have been preferable to how tired and upset he was now.

"Mess-everything-up-Mikey earned himself like a thousand points today," Mikey muttered when his brothers had gone, kicking his shoes off and arranging his scrounged-from-the-alley messenger bag in pillow position on the middle cushion so he could flop his feet over the armrest. "Way to go, me."

He was still trying to pinpoint exactly where he messed up when he must have dozed off; when he blinked awake again, the natural light in the room was darker, and someone was lifting his head carefully and shifting his bookbag away.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

"Raphie?" Mikey sat up and twisted around, or tried to, but Raph's hands were firm on his shoulders and after a second he had no choice but to lay down again. When he did, his shoulders and neck were met with much better support than a smelly sort of damp schoolbag filled with textbooks. The soft pillow that had replaced it was braced by Raph's legs, folded tailor-style, and Mikey tipped his head back to look at Raph upside down.

"What're you doing?"

"Didn't I say go back to sleep?"

But his voice was a lot smoother, a lot less upset than before, and he brushed Mikey's bangs off his forehead carefully.

"You sure know how to get yourself in trouble, little brother. How am I supposed to let you out of my sight now?"

"Sorry, Raph." Mikey twisted the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers for a moment, and added, "And sorry I said- "

"Nah, I know what you meant. Just... Just, uh... You're  _not_ like me. And that's a good thing, Mikey. I'm not the best there is, y'know?" His hands on Mikey were heavy enough that they almost felt like a hug, and Mikey stared when his big brother leaned over to look at him- cause Raph sort of wasn't making any sense here. "Don't... Don't try to be like me. Okay? There's better- shit, there's- "

 _Woah,_ what?

"Woah,  _what?_ Hold the phone, Raph," Mikey said, lifting a finger to jab it straight in his face, scowling even though it hurt. "Let's get one thing straight here- of  _course_ I wanna be like you, you're  _awesome_. This dumb fight was my dumb fault, not yours or anybody's else,  _jeez!_  You and Leo and Don are the literal best ever, even when you're being stupid, and if we can't agree on that right now then I'm not gonna talk to you anymore."

He even folded his arms and turned his head away stubbornly, sat that way for like a solid two minutes, waiting for the moment when he heard-  _yes!_ Raph was laughing!

"You're such a dork, I'm not sure we're related." Mikey grinned widely cause there was warmth behind every word, and tilted his head obligingly when Raph nudged his jaw with his fingers. Something cool and soft was pressed against the pounding ache in his cheekbone- an icepack wrapped up several times over in a dishtowel- and Mikey hummed. "Feels good, huh?"

"Yeaaah. Thanks, bro."

"No problem." He moved the icepack slowly and surely, mapping the colorful patchwork on Mikey's face with tender care, and Mikey was falling asleep again when Raphael added softly, "You've done it for me a hundred times. I kinda owe you this one."


	9. The Bradford Dilemma - Part 6

Mikey woke up slowly, to the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling of his bedroom. The top bunk was a comfortable nest of blankets, pillows, and comic books, but his face was literally just a blob of  _ow,_ and a bar of morning sunlight across his eyes made it impossible to doze off again.

So he rolled over to search through the dim room for the digital face of the alarm clock, and found "6:24" peering back at him in little red numbers.

"Oh, no way!"

Kicking his way free of several blankets, Mikey scrambled out of bed- remembering at the very last second he was a good seven feet above the floor, and clinging to the rail like a spidermonkey before he could fall. Raph slept through his silent screech of terror, thankfully, and Mikey was free to ninja his way safely down the ladder and out into the hall.

"I can't believe I overslept! Ughh,  _Mikey._ "

The stovetop went on first as he rushed by, and then he was yanking open the fridge and pulling out the milk, eggs and, _"Whereisthefreakin-_ oh, here it is," butter. It was all dumped in a heap on the counter, closely followed by a mixing bowl.

He tripped on his way back with a skillet, falling with a muffled squeak and a loud  _thud._

"I'm sure the guys slept through that," he assured himself as he climbed back to his feet, setting the skillet on the heating burner. A blob of butter went in the pan and Mikey started cracking eggs.

Ten would be enough, so it was sort of great that they had grabbed a carton of eighteen that last trip to the grocery store. "Leftover eggs means egg sandwiches tomorrow," he sangsong, eyeballing about three cups of milk as he poured it straight from the jug into the bowl with the unbeaten eggs. They didn't have any vanilla, cause Mikey forgot to put it on the list literally always, but there was cinnamon in the spice rack and that would do.

The butter was sizzling and popping, the turtle clock above the sink was at 6:39, and Mikey whisked like the wind. He, Don and Raph didn't have to be at school until eight, but Leo needed to leave for work by seven twenty or he'd miss the right train and be late- and he couldn't skip breakfast! It was the  _most important meal of the day!_

"Mikey?"

Startled, Mikey nearly dropped the bowl entirely, and had to scramble with it for a minute to save his grip.  _Oh no you don't,_ he thought with no small amount of determination, plopping the finished mixture on the counter firmly.  _There will be no casualties this morning, breakfast._

Then he turned around and smiled. "Morning, Leo! French toast Friday,  _yum_. Ooh, grab the bread for me?"

"What- oh, yeah." Leonardo plucked the loaf off the top of the fridge and handed it over, round almond eyes really blue and really uncertain. "What are you doing?"

"I just said, French toast! I slept in which is totally lame, but yours'll be ready in like five minutes, I promise."

Mikey had the first piece battered and on the skillet when Leo spoke up again. "You're making me breakfast?"

And well, that question made zero sense, since Mikey always made breakfast. The most his brothers could be trusted with was dry cereal and sometimes toast,  _sometimes._  So Mikey gave Leo a sideways look as he flipped the bread over to cook on the other side. "Yes?"

Leo rubbed a hand through his hair and blinked at the pan instead of his little brother, looking really... his age. "Even after I yelled at you?"

"Aw, Leo. Of course." Mikey was crestfallen, glancing from the toast, to his brother, then back to the toast. Leaving it was too risky. "When this is done, I'm gonna hug you. It's happening, so don't fight it."

A little embarrassed, Leo made himself busy and pulled the syrup out of the fridge. Twisting the cap off, he moved past Mikey to heat it up in the microwave, and after he started the timer he added, "I shouldn't have talked to you that way, though. When you asked about the cat."

The reminder brought secondhand hurt back to the surface, a little sting where it had really burned before. Mikey shrugged it off, and waggled the spatula at his brother.

"To be fair, you  _have_ told me "no cats" about a hundred times. And you only get that way when one of us does something  _really_ dumb, so I guess I had it coming." The first four pieces were finally done, and Mikey stacked them together awesomely on the blue plate and handed it over with a flourish. Powdered sugar would have  _made_ it, if only they'd had some. "Eat up while it's warm, bro."

A quick glance at the turtle clock made Mikey smile victoriously. Raph and Don would be up in like the next ten minutes, and by then their breakfast would be ready, too.

_Take that, alarm I forgot to set!_

Don slept like the dead until the last minute- usually someone had to wake him up- so Mikey started the next pile on Raph's plate. He paused to drop some more butter in the pan, and battered another piece of bread while it melted.

"So everything's okay?" Leo asked after a long moment. "You feel okay?"

"I  _promise,_ " Mikey replied emphatically, and watched lines of tension ease out of Leo's neck and shoulders.  _Leo's gonna have gray hair in like two days if he doesn't stop worrying so much._ "My face kinda hurts, but my headache's totally gone. If I can sweet-talk Raph into doing the ice-thing for me again tonight, all will be right with the world."

Leo smiled fondly, and about that time Raph stepped in from the hallway, stretching his arms over his head and grinning like a lazy shark. He was still sleep-ruffled, though he was dressed already in jeans and a T-shirt, and Don came trailing in behind him, still in pajamas.

"Smells like magic in here," Raph said by way of good-morning, followed closely by, "Oh, jeez, Mikey- your face is  _purple._ "

When Raph cupped his chin for a better look at his face in the light, Mikey scrunched his nose at him and put a plate of French toast in his hands instead. Then he snuck a quick look past him at Don.

_Aw, man._

Donnie didn't look any less worried than he did yesterday, and aside from a muttered greeting he barely said a word. But he glanced at Mikey when Raphael moved away to sit down- gaze dragging slowly over all the puffy, looks-worse-than-they-are bruises and scrapes- and his eyes got deeper and darker in a  _second._

So Mikey spun around to face the stove, poking at the bread sizzling away to golden brown perfection, and said, "Take a seat, Don! In T-minus two minutes, you'll have a one-way ticket to Flavorville."

In the time it took to finish breakfast, clean up, mob Leo with the prophesied hug before he left, get dressed and get out the door, Don didn't crack a smile  _once._ In the gated parking lot behind their building, he headed away towards the car without a word, and Mikey followed Raph to his bike. He pulled the proffered orange helmet on and situated his bookbag before climbing up; and if he burrowed against his brother's back and hid from the world for a minute or two, then it was just because it was a little cold out, that was all.

Mikey had been so worried about Leo and Raph being angry with him, he hadn't even  _considered_ Donatello might be angry, too.

* * *

"Oh, my  _god,_ Mikey!" was April's greeting-of-choice when she saw him in drama. He barely had time to look up from his improv prompt before she was sitting on his desk and leaning over to hold his face in her hands. "Donnie told me, but- oh, my  _god."_

April was Donnie's best friend in the whole world, Casey's girlfriend since basically forever, and Mikey's big sister as far as anyone who mattered was concerned. She was also super smart, really pretty, and rocked a blue belt in karate- coolest girl ever? Mikey thought so.

"Ugh, this is all  _Bradford's_ fault. What a creep!"

"Easy, sis! He had nothing to do with the fight. But I have  _no_ idea what's up with that guy," he admitted. "I'm thinking about talking to him during free period today."

"I dunno, Mikey," April said, moving her hands away and sitting back to look at him worriedly. "That might not be the best idea. The boys are all pretty high-strung."

He propped his chin up in one hand, glum. "Don't I know it. Donnie's so mad he won't even look at me."

"Oh, sweetie, that's not it at  _all."_

* * *

As usual, April turned out to be right.

"You did  _what?"_ Mikey all but shouted, and Donnie scowled at a spot on the floor.

"I couldn't help it! He just looked so  _smug."_

"You should've seen it Mikey," Raph said brightly, actual real-life glee in his face. They were sitting in the _office,_ legitimately in trouble, and Raph was grinning so hard Mikey wanted to pinch him. "I have  _never_ seen someone go down so hard before in my life. Bradford hit the floor like a ton of bricks."

"Donnie, holy crap! You can't pull a Raph in the middle of the hallway, you're an  _honor student!"_

Rolling his eyes in a really longsuffering way, Don said, "Mikey, I can get away with it  _because_ I'm an honor student. I'm ahead of the rest of the school by more than ten percent. _That_ , and I also run tech support for most of the faculty," he added with a shrug. "Since it was an  _"accident,"_ they aren't going to do more than slap my wrist."

"Then how come they called Leo?" Mikey said worriedly, eyeing the lady behind the desk. "He had to leave work, you guys, that's  _so_ not cool."

Donnie looked a little guilty at that, but Raph waved it off. "Leo's leaving that job next week anyway, it's not like they'll fire him. And the principal's just sending us home to prove a point, it's no big deal."

"Ughhh, it's like I woke up in Crazy Town." He slapped a hand over his face without thinking and yelped; Donnie's disgruntled frown was gone like lightning, and Raph actually stood up out of his chair, brow creased in concern. Don eased Mikey's cringing arms down to get a look at his face, and Mikey let him; saying  _really_ seriously through the painful sting, "I know you're angry, but can't you just wait and take it out on me at home? That way you won't get a checkmark on your perfect record, and Leo won't worry anymore?"

Donnie's hands fell to his shoulders and clenched there tightly, shaking once like a terrier with a bone. "I'm angry. I'm  _furious._ But not at you. What you did was brave and amazing, and we-  _all_ of us- are  _so_ proud of you."

Mikey blinked at him. He couldn't  _quite_ make sense of that, not after last night and all the quiet upset in their apartment when he got home. His apparent confusion made Raph sink back into his chair and drop his face into his hands to stifle a sigh. Mikey drooped-  _Messing up again-_ and even though Don's eyes were almost black with something bigger than anger, the hand that tipped Mikey's chin back up was really gentle.

"I'm angry at Chris Bradford, who was going to lure you into a trap at the YMCA, with nice words and flowers from his mother's shop, just to get back at Raph. And I'm  _furious_ that he left you in that alley to face three thugs on your own, without so much as calling for help."

"But it's not his job to care about me, Donnie," Mikey replied softly, once he found the words. "He's not my family."

"Doesn't matter," Donatello said matter-of-factly, and let him go. "You're my baby brother, the only one I've got, and he let you get hurt. And I hate him for that."

Mikey's eyes darted to his hands, folded in his lap-  _he_ was the one who messed up and gave Bradford a shot,  _he_ was the one who went looking for trouble down that alley, but he wasn't the one  _in_  trouble. His brothers were mad, but now they weren't- or they weren't, but they were at other people- and Mikey couldn't keep all those lines straight in his head.

He only looked up again when Don said, "And, by the way?"

"Yeah?"

Donnie opened his arms and smiled really kindly, the kind of smile that Mikey had to return automatically no matter what.

"This time, I really  _do_ want a hug."


	10. Forward! - Part 1

"What's going on up there, chuckles?" Raph asked from his bed, and Mikey leaned out over the side of the top bunk to grin at him upside down.

It was a pretty great Saturday, as far as Saturdays went; just a sort of lazy, do whatever day. The a la carte day on the menu of days. All his brothers were home for the whole weekend- even Leo- and no one was mad at anybody, and there were no chores or errands to do. Plus, Mikey had a bunch of dough ready to go to make homemade pizzas for dinner! Or lunch, if they couldn't wait that long. Probably lunch.

"Look at this picture Leatherhead just sent me," Mikey said by way of answer, offering Raph his phone with the hand that wasn't busy holding the railing for support. His brother sat up as he took it, putting his homework aside and only giving Mikey a brief weird look for hanging like a lemur instead of saying something jerkish about it.

When he read the text, his grin mirrored Mikey's to a T.

"That scrawny cat kicked him off his bed?"

"Isn't that hilarious? He's such a huge guy!"

The picture was one of Leatherhead's bed, a really big sort of old and lumpy futon, folded down flat; and in the dead center of its vast surface area, curled up into a teeny tiny orange ball, was Kitty.

 _'I cant move her, shes sleeping'_ the caption said, and Mikey reclaimed his phone, lip stuck between his teeth in concentration as he thumbed a one-handed response.

_'raph says ur a pushover'_

_'Raphael carried you up the stairs when you visited because you gave him puppy dog eyes. Raphael isnt allowed to call anyone a pushover'_

_'raph says hes gonna punch u'_

Two knocks on the bedroom door later, and it eased open just enough for Don to poke his head inside.

"Hey, Mikey, you- uh... " He straightened and came another step inside, blinking once. "You're upside down."

"Is what it is, bro," Mikey said sagely, and grinned when his genius brother only looked more confused. He decided to pull himself right side up again- for Donnie's sake, and definitely not because the blood was starting to rush to his head- but quickly learned that he had leaned down too far when he was talking to Raph, and was past the point of no return.

_Heh... Oops._

He shot Donatello an award-winning smile. "Do you need something, D?"

"I came to tell you you've got company," Don said dryly, giving him the most we're-not-related look ever.  _Rude._ But at least they weren't treating him like a glass egg anymore, that was definitely going down as a score in Mikey's book. "Do  _you_ need something, Mikey?"

"Uhh, maybe," Mikey hedged gibly. Donnie rolled his eyes and came over to extract him from his predicament, free of charge. It was easy for Donnie, since he was so tall. If he got any taller he'd be a  _tree_. The thought of that quickly stole Mikey's smile away, a Serious Look taking its place. He touched Donnie's arm gravely. "Don't ever go in the woods, bro- we'll lose you."

Don was hopelessly lost, which was a good look on him- it gave his know-it-all expression a break, anyway- and at that point Raph interjected helpfully with, "What the heck are you saying?"

But Mikey had literally just caught up with the reason Don was there in the first place, and lit up like the fourth of July. "Wait a minute, I have  _company_?"

He didn't wait around for an answer, either, just pushed out the door and hurtled down the hall at like half the speed of light. Only a handful of people ever came over, since theirs was a pretty small, close-knit clan. And since April and Casey were  _everyone's_ company, company for  _him_ could only mean one dude.

One super awesome dude.

And sure enough, Woody was sitting on the armrest of their monster couch when Mikey swung around the corner; swinging a foot idly as he chatted amiably with Leonardo, the midfielder looked settled in to wait for Mikey as patiently as he did everything else. That weird Space Odyssey movie that Leo and Don bonded over was on TV, but Leo must have muted it to be polite. Lots of things Leo did were attributable to those good manners he'd learned- and kept, like some kind of inheritance- from their dad.

Woody glanced up when Mikey windmilled to a stop, and his brown eyes were warm when he stood up to meet him with a fistbump. "Mikester! Bingo- "

"- bongo!" Mikey was grinning hugely as he knocked his knuckles against Woody's, cause Woody was just the kinda guy that inspired huge grins. It was like a biological code in his DNA or whatever, ' _inspire huge grins'-_  right next to the code that made him a human instead of like a dog, or mutant fish. "What are you doin' here, dude? The game's tomorrow, I would have thought coach would have you guys running drills. Crunch time!"

He sorta regretted asking two seconds later, because something in Leo's face winced and his eyes got old and sad. To be totally honest, as bummed as Mikey was about missing the last game of the season, his brothers had taken it a lot harder than he had. Brothers were weird.

But even though Leo said they'd talk about it, and try to figure something out-  _"it isn't fair to make you give up after you've come this far"_ \- Mikey shrugged all that off and went to talk to the coach himself.

After all, everyone in the family had already given stuff up but him. It was Mikey's turn.

 _"Well, I sure can understand that, Mike, absolutely. We'll miss you on game day, and not just because you're our striker,"_ Coach had said, rubbing a hand through his short hair. And he really had looked understanding, and really sorry- Mikey didn't know what he had to be sorry for, but he wasn't gonna try to figure it out. Adults were harder to understand than big brothers sometimes. But what mattered was, there were no hard feelings; coach understood, and his team did, too.

There'd be other games.

Mikey  _sorta_ didn't go to practice anymore, though. He was totally cool with his decision, but he wasn't completely  _as_ cool with hearing everyone else be super excited for something he couldn't be a part of. Plus, they needed to work on their formation without him! Hah, legitimate reason.

But Mikey's being happy with his choice certainly didn't mean his brothers were.  _Tough cookies,_ he thought firmly, and determinedly avoided looking Leo in the eye.

"That's why I'm here," Woody said with one of those crooked grins that sorta just made Mikey's day. One part fun, two parts mischief, it almost always preceded a  _crazy_ good time. "It's been raining cats and dogs all month, right? Well, the grounds over at East Side are practically  _underwater._ Flooded out everything, soccer field, football field, tennis courts, you name it."

Mikey gaped at him.

"Dude! That  _bites!"_ Not the 'crazy good' he was expecting, not even close. Crushed for him, crushed for their team, Mikey took a step closer and reached to snag a hold of Woody's sleeve, giving it a little tug. "What is it- did they reschedule? They can't call the last game, can they? How long will it take them to drain the field?"

"Chill, amigo- lemme finish," Woody said, and there was laughter in his voice Mikey couldn't exactly make sense of. He did chill though, with a huff, and his friend gave him a fond look as he continued, "The Panthers wanna play tomorrow as badly as us Vikings, so our coach and theirs pulled some strings, called some parents, made some last minute plans, and got it all figured out." Mikey could feel the first warm stirrings of hope somewhere behind his heart and Woody could probably see it shining in his eyes like headlights, because he laughed. "We're gonna use  _our_ field, Mike. We're gonna foot their travelin' bill with our travelin' funds. It's gonna be a home game!"

"Then- " Woody's cheer was as fast-spreading as the plague, and Mikey's face felt like it would break in two from how wide he was smiling. "So- that means- "

"He can play?" That was Raph, who must have joined their little powwow at some point when Mikey wasn't paying attention, and he sounded every bit as hopeful as Mikey- looked it, too, Mikey discovered when he glanced back at him over his shoulder. "That's what that means, right?"

"Coach and the guys are waitin' in the van downstairs," the tall midfielder confirmed, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker. "We got one more practice before the big game, and it ain't the same without our striker. Waddaya say?"

Practically vibrating with excitement, Mikey swung to face Leo and didn't even have time to open his mouth when his oldest brother answered preemptively with one of those once-in-a-blue-moon, downright stunning smiles that belonged on a movie poster.

"Of  _course_."

Then Donnie was shoving his duffel into his arms, because Donnie was obviously psychic, and Woody was dragging him bodily out the door, and his brothers' voices behind him filled the apartment like a happy balloon.

Woody and Mikey took down those five flights of stairs like a pair of Navy Seals, bursting out the front door of the building and burning rubber to the van that sat waiting, side door open, by the curb. Shouts and laughter and raised voices greeted them, helpful hands reaching out to tug them inside, and they were on their way.

It was the  _best_ Saturday, as far as Saturdays went.

 _So much for giving stuff up, huh, Mikey?_ said a mean little voice in the back of his mind. Mikey pretended not to hear it, and for the sake of his beaming teammates, he didn't let his smile slip an inch.


	11. Forward! - Part 2

Coach sent everyone home at a little after five, with strict orders to eat up and get plenty of rest, and Woody's mom was happy to drop Mikey off since they lived in the same part of town. So the Mikey that was trudging up those five flights of stairs was tired down to his bones, next to  _starving_ since he'd skipped out on lunch, and so excited he thought he'd burst.

 _We're_ so  _gonna kick butt tomorrow,_ Mikey thought gleefully, pausing to slip his muddy cleats off in the hall and then pushing open the apartment door. He shivered as he stepped inside. It was all gross and rainy out, the landlord didn't heat the lobby or the hallways, so the abrupt shift from cold to pleasant warmth was almost uncomfortable.

"Hey, Mikey," Donnie said from the couch as he closed the front door behind him, raising a hand in greeting; and, because it was pretty much a given that Mikey would ask, added preemptively, "Leo ran to the store, and Raph's still working on his paper. How was practice?"

"Awesome as usual." Mikey grinned, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over the back of a dining room chair. "Our GK is like an actual Jedi, I could only sneak two goals in! The Panthers better bring their A-game tomorrow, 'cause we're sure as heck bringin' ours."

He was kinda dirty and damp, but  _hungry,_ and he was sure his brothers probably were, too. So he made a quick trip to the bathroom, tossed his cleats and duffel bag into the tub, and scrubbed his face and arms up to his elbows. Then he plucked the kitchen apron off its hook, hanging it around his neck and tying the straps around his waist with a flourish.

The dough was ready, and there was still a couple jars left of the homemade pizza sauce he'd made last time, so dinner would be a snap. Gleefully piling ingredients on the counter, then leaning over to preheat the oven, Mikey called, "Hey Don, are you good splitting a veggie pizza with Leo?"

"Sure I am." His older brother glanced up from his magazine at him and blinked, brow wrinkling. "Don't you wanna take a shower first?"

"My hands are clean!"

"That's not what I... oh, nevermind."

The first step in the pizza process was greasing the inside of two cast iron griddles with olive oil, and then spreading his dough across the bottoms and a few inches up the sides.

As he poured pizza sauce straight from its jar over the soon-to-be crusts, Mikey thought a shower sounded really great, actually. There was a chill that had settled right under his skin, and it wasn't going away despite the warmth of the kitchen.

 _The sooner I get the pizzas in, the sooner I can warm up and eat!_  It was a great plan.

The mushrooms, peppers and onions for Leo and Don's pizza needed chopped up, but the black olives came pre-sliced in the can. Mikey was still wrestling with their ancient can-opener when out of nowhere Raph snapped, "What the  _heck?"_ and the can-opener was plucked from his hands.

"Hey!"

"Hey, yourself," his brother retorted, looking irritated. "I  _thought_ I heard you come home. What do you think you're doing?"

"Making dinner?"

"You haven't even  _changed_ yet."

"I'm hungry!"

Something relented in the sharp green of Raph's eyes, but his frown didn't go away. "You wanna be sick on top of that? Go get cleaned up, I can finish the food."

Usually a suggestion like that would have sent visions of blackened pizzas and trilling smoke alarms sprinting through Mikey's head, but this time the stab of alarm he felt had nothing to do with potential food poisoning. He hugged the can of olives to his chest protectively and insisted, "No, I have to do it!"

It was his job, it was how he contributed, and since he got to play soccer after all, he  _had_ to make dinner!

But Raph didn't seem to think so. He was largely unmoved by the puppy dog eyes Leo would have buckled at within moments, and Mikey had to accept defeat. He handed over his olives, then the apron, with an anxious look at his griddles. "Don't forget- cheese, then toppings, then more cheese. But don't overload it or it won't cook all the way through. And make sure- "

"Mikey! We can handle it! You didn't  _always_ cook for us, you know. We fended for ourselves when you were a tot, and we survived."

" _How?"_

"Go. Shower."

* * *

When Mikey came wandering out maybe twenty minutes later, pajama-clad and barefoot, he felt  _much_ better, that clinging chill chased away by hot water and bubblegum body soap. He followed the smell of baking pizza back to the kitchen, and discovered that Leo had come home while he'd been in the shower. He and Raph and Don were all three crowded around the dining room table intently, and Mikey's curiosity overpowered his concern for their food.

Picking up his pace up a little, he headed for the table and grinned when Leo lifted an arm to include him right away. Tucked against his side, snug between him and Don, Mikey blinked at the huge piece of white poster board stretched out across the tabletop.

"Woah, what's this for?"

They had paint markers in pretty much every existing color, or at least every color on the tertiary color wheel, but so far the poster was a bright burst of his brother's respective favorite hues of red, blue, and purple.

And in the middle was a proud, orange #9. Mikey's jersey number.

_No way._

Mikey's eyes went wide, all on their own, and Don grinned at him, poking him on the tip of the nose with the wet end of his purple marker.

"The biggest game of the season needs the biggest sign! Of course, this means we'll have to sit in the back so we don't obstruct anyone's view..."

"Totally worth it for the bragging rights we'll have when everyone figures out number nine's our kid brother," Raph said with smug certainty, leaning carefully over to the opposite side of their art project to add color in a spot that was apparently sporting a glaring deficiency of stop-sign red.

Mikey watched, and felt sort of... floaty. And, in sharp contrast to how he'd felt coming home, warm to his bones- the drifting heat from the oven and Leo's arm around his shoulders and just the glad feeling of being surrounded by his three favorite people in the whole world as they did something nice for him, all coordinated to create a warmth even a hot shower couldn't emulate.

"You're coming to my game tomorrow?"

"What, you thought we'd stay home?" Leo teased with a nudge. Mikey glanced up at him, a smile tugging at his mouth and spoke without thinking.

"I kind of thought you'd be..."

He paused. Thought they'd be  _what?_

Annoyed that Mikey kept getting stuff, at the same time they had to keep giving stuff up?

Maybe, but he didn't wanna  _say_  that. Not after his brothers had finished making dinner, and painted him a poster. They didn't seem annoyed at all, and saying they did would just make them upset, and make Mikey feel like an ungrateful tool.

"Thought we'd be what?" Raph asked, echoing Mikey's own question like some sort of mind-reader, his green eyes narrowed by like a millimeter. It was the look Mikey was beginning to recognize as the one that  _usually_ preceded Mikey messing up and saying or doing something  _really_ dumb. So the youngest of the four swept his silly insecurity under a rug and grinned.

_Honesty's the best policy, but maaaybe not this time._

"It's just, you guys have never come before! You'll really be there? That's awesome!"

And besides, that was the truth.

Well, most of it.


	12. Forward! - Part 3

Mikey only tried out for soccer in the first place because his brothers wanted him to try out for  _something,_ and the school guidance counselor said that out of all the sports, soccer was the cheapest and the least demanding for parents. That pretty much made the decision for him- he barely looked at anything else on the list.

For all that, though, it turned out to be  _awesome_.

The end of the first week of preseason, some time in late April way before the new school year had even started and Mikey was still a lowly eighth grader, was when Coach issued jersey numbers. He and the team captain- a gruff junior called Hob, but only by friends- pulled Mikey aside to explain why they gave him the number nine.

 _"You've got a lot of potential, Mike. You read the field, you position yourself for easy passes, and you make sure your teammates always know where you're at in relation to the ball. Those are all the qualities we look for in a striker,"_ Coach had told him that day, handing over the yellow and white jersey with a big proud "HAMATO 9" on the back.  _"You're a bit small for a target man, but you're fast. With a little spit and polish, you could be our new secret weapon. Sound good?"_

" _Wait, wait, wait!"_ Mikey had said with wide eyes, waving both hands even as he clutched the jersey. _"So you're saying... I made the team? Really?"_

Hob had rolled his eyes, with a shove at Mikey's back that sent him staggering toward the turf where the rest of his new team waited, and replied,  _"We'll take that as a yes, Goldilocks."_

The other two freshmen that made the cut both flaked out by day seven, making Mikey officially the youngest, and the smallest, and the butt of every "varsity baby" joke in the book. But he made pals with Woody, a sophomore to his freshman, almost instantly- they had a secret handshake established by the end of the second day- and the teasing Mikey endured was good-natured. Absolutely  _nothing_ like the hazing horror stories Raph could tell from his days on the football team. And it was so much fun starting his first year of high school with a dozen friends on top of two brothers, even if none of them were in his grade.

Practices ran the whole length of the summer, and Mikey learned a lot. Initially, all he really knew about forwards was that they moved the most in the game, and he thought that sounded pretty good. He came to realize pretty quickly that a _striker's_ job- pretty much their whole purpose on the field- was to  _score_ , and that no matter how tricky a play, or how hard he fought for the ball, none of it meant anything if didn't put points on the board.

Mikey felt the burn of that responsibility for the first time after their first loss of the season. It was only a practice match, but the weight of the two point defeat sat in his _bones_ and it must have shown on his face, because his teammates took one look at him and laughed.

_"Jeez, you look like you're gonna cry! Don't worry, Goldie. We lose as a team."_

Maybe if they hadn't been so understanding, he would have chickened out and offered the position to the way more experienced wingback instead. But Woody was more than happy to work with him on ball control, and Hob actually grinned when Mikey begged on his knees- literally, in front of everyone- for some extra 1v1 drills after practice.

After awhile that spit and polish paid off- midway through the last game of his first season, Mikey was  _used_ to making goals. He could read the opposing GK, search for a tell, and sink the ball past a weak point in the defense and straight through to the net. He was  _used_ to the crowd screaming his jersey number, he was even used to the rising chant of _"Hamato, Hamato,"_ from the home bleachers.

And, yeah, just  _maybe_ that last play had been sort of  _epic._ Mikey had a huge lead up the field, and the Panthers' defense broke formation- the GK was alone in his throne, and Mikey's shot was the clearest it'd ever be. A quick glance over his shoulder proved Mikey's teammates were keeping their marks, and the Panthers had no hope of repositioning.

It was a window of opportunity that didn't crop up often, and- alone as he was in enemy territory- Mikey was gonna go all in.

The gasp that rose up from the crowd was all the warning he got when the opposing sweeper practically swung out of thin air and executed a slide tackle through the wet grass that Mikey had to admit was pretty awesome- and just this side of legal contact- even as it sent him sprawling forward.

But Mikey was good at just-this-side-of-legal, too, and caught himself on his hands in the mud without thinking, scissoring his legs up and over his head quickly, and cartwheeling forward neatly instead of faceplanting into the dirt with only a few seconds lost.

The onlookers cheered, the sweeper on the ground looked gobsmacked, and Mikey seized the ball back and sprinted to regain his ground- defense was catching up, and he made his shot the second it felt right.

The ball cut neatly over the goal line with absolutely no spin, and hit the lower left corner of the net just as the halftime whistle blew. He pumped a fist in the seconds before the stands erupted-  _Yes!_

And then the whole home crowd was on its feet and  _roaring_ , and even with a headache that felt like a jackhammer between his ears, Mikey could flash a peace sign and shoot a smile at the stands. His wrists felt a little sore- he hadn't done any flips like that since the last time he'd practiced in the Hamato dojo nearly three years ago- but he did his job and got the Vikings a lead, and the new number on the scoreboard was a thing of  _beauty._

Woody grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him into a one-armed hug and leading him off the field because the ref was giving their team the fisheye for that last showy goal. Mikey was buried under his team in seconds, all of them whooping and cheering and shoving toward the sidelines as one loud, obtrusive mass of muddy limbs.

"You're practically  _dancin'_ out there, Gold!"

"That's our Striker Miker!"

"Championship in the  _bag!"_

"Cleats," Hob reminded them as they passed, and Mikey nodded cheerfully, plopping down on the bench next to the captain and wrestling his first shoe off. Somewhere behind him the parents who volunteered for canteen started unloading a cooler, and Mikey had half an hour to get his springing pulse back under control.

"You should see your face, you're red as a cherry," Woody told Mikey with a smile a mile wide as he sat down, and Mikey laughed, rubbing a dirty hand through his hair. It flopped back into his face, and Hob gave him a disgruntled look.

"Do somethin' about that mop, Goldilocks, or I will."

"And lose my namesake?" Mikey put a hand over his heart, playing wounded. "If I do that, you'd have nothing to call me but my  _name._  The horror!"

"Oh, I'd think of somethin'," Hob reassured him dryly, handing over the scraper when he was done with it. Mikey stuck his tongue out and got to work on his shoe, digging the mud out from around the studs so his traction wouldn't be all messed up when the game started again. "All that hair's gotta be annoying. I didn't take you for the pretty boy type."

"I'm  _naturally_ pretty, Hob. I don't need the hair. And it's really hot in the summer! I wanted to get a buzzcut like Raphie, but Leo was like  _'no way!'_ sooo. _"_

"Mikey's the  _baby_ ," Woody said to Hob with a sideways grin, like it was the only explanation necessary, and their captain rolled his eyes so hard Mikey was worried he'd sprain something. "Hey, I think my mam would have a hair-tie on her or something. I'll check."

He was gone for a few minutes, and Mikey was working on his second cleat, when two familiar arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

Grinning, he tugged his shoe back on and twisted in Leo's arms, hugging him back fiercely.

"Hey, big bro! How's your first-ever soccer game?"

" _Incredible_. I can't even tell you. Raph and Donnie were still talking about that last goal you made when I came down here." Leo's voice was warm and fond and proud all at once, and all for him, and Mikey burrowed into his favorite spot under Leo's chin and  _relished_ in it. A moment later, his big brother said gently, "How about you? How's your fever?"

Hob gave him a sharp look Mikey could see out of his periph, but he opted to ignore it.

How the heck did Leo  _know?_

Sure, Mikey might have woken up that morning feeling like roadkill, but he hadn't said  _anything!_ He was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't get to play in the big game- and even if it made him the worst kind of spoiled brat, Mikey would rather be miserable later than miss out.

But Leo had him figured out,  _and_ he wasn't dragging him home?

He pulled back enough to stare up at his brother in something like surprise or awe or both, and Leo gave him an amused look back.

"What, you thought I wouldn't notice?" Leonardo pushed a hand through Mikey's damp curls, and added, "Raph's saving our seats, and Don's running to the bodega around the corner for some Tylenol to keep you on your feet. I know you don't think so, but we want you to play as badly as you do. Just... you get  _sick_ when you get sick, kiddo. If I let you do this, I want you staying home with me for the next couple days."

Leo didn't start his new job until Wednesday so it wouldn't be inconvenient at all... and staying home with him, just him and Mikey, sounded nothing short of  _awesome._ So when Leo prompted, "Deal?" Mikey nodded without missing a beat, fingers curling into the fabric of his brother's jacket to match the dumb grin probably curling across his face.

"I'm back, and I got the goods," Woody said suddenly, appearing out of nowhere by Leo's left shoulder with a cloth headband in hand. It was blue, with yellow ducks, and Mikey blinked at it from the safe circle of Leo's arms.

Hob nodded, unflappable as ever, and said, "Hey, big bro- mind spinning Goldie around for us?"

Mikey was promptly turned around by the shoulders, because Leo was obviously a traitor, and Hob pulled the headband down over Mikey's head and then up again, settling it behind his ears just past his hairline, so efficiently Mikey had to wonder if there was a little sister in Hob's life somewhere.

At that point all three of them stood back to gauge his reaction- and from the looks of it, studiously supress inordinate amounts of laughter until he gave them a cue.

"Well, I dunno what it looks like, but girls have the right idea!" Mikey declared, a little surprised at how comfortable it felt to have all those wet curls pulled out of his face.

Leonardo leaned over to get a better look at him. His mouth was twisted up into a pleased, sideways smile, and the blue of his eyes was ridiculously soft.

"I love it," he announced, and Mikey saw headbands in his future.


	13. Forward! - Part 4

Don went back up to his seat once he dropped off the medicine, but not before taking a picture of Mikey on his phone.

"No, you don't understand," the young genius said gleefully, holding his cell up out of his little brother's reach as he backed away. "I  _have_ to show Raph."

"Traitor!" Mikey yelled after him, while his team- camped in the wet turf with Gatorades and cubes of honeydew- roared with laughter.

"I should get back, too," Leo said, and looked vaguely surprised when Mikey turned around promptly and opened his arms for a hug. Maybe because they were surrounded by Mikey's friends, and it would have been embarrassing for any other kid his age, but it wasn't for Michelangelo. He saw all of his teammates hug their moms and dads pretty frequently, it was basically the same thing.

And since it was Leo, and he was actually genetically incapable of ignoring one of his brothers reaching for him the way Mikey was, Mikey got his hug a second later anyway.

"Awwww," Pete cooed through a mouthful of melon, and Hob reached over without looking to push him into a puddle. Ignoring them both, Mikey leaned away to look up at Leo as another thought occurred to him.

"Will you take my phone back with you? I think it's gonna get soaked if I leave it in my duffel."

"Sure, I will. Go grab it."

Mikey trotted back to the bench, and in the handful of minutes it took him to dig through his bag and come up with his cell phone and turn back around, his big brother had been compromised.

There was a tall lady approaching him- pretty and willowy, dressed in a half sleeve flannel shirt and vintage jeans, her red hair pulled up into a messy bun- and at about the same time Mikey saw her, Woody saw her, too.

"Aw,  _man_." The midfielder dropped his water bottle and scooted over to hide behind his much shorter friend, even though he had to bend almost double to do it. "What's mam doin' down here? Mams aren't supposed to be down here!  _Mikesteeer-"_

"Hey, what do I know about moms?" Mikey teased him good-naturedly, reaching over his shoulder to poke Woody in the forehead.

He'd never had a mother, after all, and neither did Casey or April- but even with as little as Mikey knew about them, he would still bet a thousand bucks that Woody's  _mamaí_ was nothing short of awesome _._ For a single parent with four kids, she certainly never minded having another one over as often as Mikey was. In fact, she always seemed really happy to see him, and included him as gracefully as she did everything else.

And Ms. Mullee was the one who showed Mikey how to make a breakfast bake one morning after he'd spent the night! Except that was a total secret.

"Go hide behind Mondo, I gotta give this to Leo," Mikey said, shrugging Woody's hands off and making his way back towards his brother at a trot.

It was  _partly_ that- and partly because he was  _way_ curious to see what Ms. Mullee had to say to his brother. Leo's back was to him as Mikey returned- so Mikey had no idea what his face looked like- but Ms. Mullee's expression was really warm.

"...such a  _wonderful_ job, and it shows in all three of those brothers of yours. I've never met a kinder soul than Michelangelo."

"Aww," Mikey piped up, leaning into Leo's side when he reached him and beaming at the Irish lady as widely as he could. "That's the nicest thing I ever heard, Ms. Mullee."

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, and the automatic way Leo's arm came up around his shoulders, and she smiled.

"Oh, you hush, lad. I can't believe Woodrow was serious about that headband! Little Darcy didn't want to give it up until he told her it was for you." Mikey almost laughed- he _definitely_ owed Woody's baby sister a thank you. "Now Leonardo, I've got to get back to my girls, but I mean what I told you- not a lot of people could do what you've managed to. And if you ever need a mother's advice," she said, taking his hand in both of hers, "you know who to call. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Leo said quietly, looking almost stunned, and blinked when the woman tapped his cheek fondly before turning to leave.

"What was that all about?" Mikey asked when she was gone, and it took his big brother a moment to look down at him. But when he finally did, slowly, it was with a familiar half-smile that usually meant a hundred secret things Mikey could never figure out, and the barest ghost of something pleased and proud in the cool blue of his eyes.

"Nothing. Got your phone?"

* * *

Forced as he was to one side of the goal box, Mikey was practically eye to eye with a GK that looked ready for war. Tied four to four, the Viking's striker had two markers, less than three minutes left in the game, and no clear shot.

Mikey felt miserable, cold under his skin and hot everywhere else, with a headache that would become a migraine by the end of the night- but he didn't have time to worry about it now. Mikey popped the ball up into a juggle on his knee for a precarious few seconds, when a Panther came too close to stealing it away, and scolded himself viciously.

_Focus, Mikey!_

The field was a wreck, and the sky kept getting darker. If the game ended on a tie, the ref would probably call it as one. They didn't have any stoppage time to use up, and there was no way he'd let them stay for a penalty shoot-out, not even for the championship game.

Mikey  _had_ to score.

In the stands, the home crowd started grumbling; no one liked to see a forward deliberate at the goal box.  _"Shoot, Hamato!", "Make a play, number nine!"_ and Mikey  _wanted_ to, but there was no way his shot would make it in. The GK had him pegged, practically ignoring every other player on the field to watch Mikey's every move like a hawk. And maybe if Mikey was a better striker, he'd go for it anyway, make a miracle happen...

But he couldn't do it. His brothers were watching, the championship was on the line, and Mikey couldn't make himself take the shot.

The goalie would catch it, and send the ball back downfield, and then the Panthers would score, and win the game, and that would be  _worse_ than a tie. Wouldn't it?

"Gold!"

_No way._

Mikey jerked his head up, and there was no way to see through the thick tangle of the Panthers defense, but that was definitely Hob. Somehow his captain must have created a space in the last handful of seconds, because he was calling for the ball.

Hardly daring to believe it, Mikey feinted left, and sent the ball to the right, before he'd more than subconsciously located Hob on the field. He kicked it high to clear the turf- because he didn't have enough strength left to powerhouse it through all that mud- and went down hard a second later as the opposing left fullback collided with him solidly in his hurry to follow the ball.

Mikey rolled free of the larger player and sat up on his knees, heart pounding in his ears- did he manage to connect, or was it a total miss?

"Nice pass, Goldilocks!" Hob yelled with a grin that was there and gone again in the space of a heartbeat, and Mikey grinned back hard enough it hurt.

Hob made his play while the ball was still airborne; jumping up and swinging his leg around to strike it with the front of his foot, the wing-back sent it flying again in the cleanest volley of the season.

The goalie didn't have time to reorient himself, camped as he was in front of Mikey at the opposite end of the goal box, and the winning goal sailed straight past him. It hit the net with a wet snap, and the whistle blew moments later like actual magic, and just like that- as the home seats erupted, and his teammates cheered- the season was over.

Mikey threw his hands in the air, speechless with exhilaration, and a second later he was plowed over into the mud again; Napoleon was there first, bawling into his shoulder and hugging all the breath right out of him, and then Woody and Mondo joined the dogpile, followed closely by Chet and Pete, and Mikey hugged back where he could.

His head was still pounding, but he laughed anyway- the championship was theirs! And Mikey got to  _play!_

Sooner than later, Mikey was hauled out of the pile by a strong hand curled around his bicep, and a dry windbreaker was dropped unceremoniously over his head.

"Put that on before you catch pneumonia," Hob muttered gruffly, unfazed by Dask's arm around his waist, or Timothy crying happily into his chest. Mikey reached over to pat the latter's back soothingly, and got his hand swatted for his trouble. "Jacket," Hob said severely, "now."

"Someone needs to teach you how to celebrate," Mikey all but sang, shoving his arms through the sleeves agreeably. "That shot you made- that was the coolest thing I've  _ever seen!_ I know you said you could volley, but holy  _cats!_ What a volley!"

Hob eyed him sidelong, reaching down without looking to pull Woody and Mondo out of the mud by the backs of their jerseys.

"A lot of strikers I've met would have wanted to take that winning goal," he said after a minute, and Mikey stopped struggling with the zipper of the over-large jacket to give him a weird look.

"No way. Their goalie was like, in the zone. Like, eye of the tiger." He rolled the drooping sleeves up to his wrists, stalling for as long as he could before he added, "But you're right. I'm  _really_  sorry you had to bail me out. A better striker would have taken the shot, but I- "

"Nah, a  _conceited_ striker would have taken the shot." Hob shook his head, looking vaguely amused by something. "You knew you wouldn't have scored, and you kept the ball until one of us could create space for a pass. That's  _instincts_ , Gold. Intuition. I can't train that into ya, that's somethin' you've  _got_."

Honest praise from their tight-lipped captain was enough to make Mikey stop walking and  _stare;_  then Woody had an arm strung around his shoulders, and Herman was ruffling his hair, and Mondo drawled, "Pff, listen to him. Hob's always had a soft-spot for you, Goldie, way back when you were a skinny little eighth grader first tryin' out for the team."

"He's still skinny," Hob grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and scowling darkly at the lot of them. It was a look that used to send Mikey cowering, but now it just made him grin along with everyone else.

And when he heard his brothers call his name, crossing the field to him at a run, he broke out from under Woody's arm to meet them halfway, yelling, "Guys, guys- Hob says I have  _intuition!"_  just to hear his teammates laugh.

* * *

With plans to meet up at the  _amazing_ pizzeria down in Little Italy that Woody's uncle Rupert owned, for a celebratory team-and-family dinner- and his brothers waiting in the parking lot by the car- Mikey jogged back to the field for the duffel bag he'd accidentally left behind.

With the stadium lights off, and the dark rainclouds hovering low, it looked way creepier than it had during the gameplay, even with a few people still milling around. Mikey tugged his bag out from under the bench and slung it over his shoulder, making his way at a trot back across the turf.

"Hard to believe a shrimp like you could cause as much trouble as you have," someone said from right behind him, and Mikey paused, turning around at the unfamiliar voice.

It belonged to a huge- no, seriously,  _huge-_ guy in a spiked jacket. His eyes were a startling turquoise color, set above a strong nose and a square jaw. Mikey blinked- he'd never seen this dude before, and he'd  _definitely_ remember if he had. The stranger had more piercings than Mikey had freckles, and there were odd, angular tattoos disappearing down his neck beneath the low, V-shaped collar of his shirt.

"Uh, okay," Mikey replied, because he wasn't sure what else there was to say, and the stranger smiled at him.

And Mikey froze.

It was the first time in his whole life that a simple smile sent cold chills down his spine. His hand tightened around the strap of his bag, pulse beginning to race, because that smile was twisted and black and  _hateful,_ in a way Mikey had never, ever seen before- and it  _scared him._

"Give my regards to Raphael," the big spiky guy said calmly, and turned away. Mikey's eyes widened, and even though it made his heart lurch painfully, he forced himself to stand his ground and call out after him.

"How- how do you know my brother?"

The stranger glanced back, with something sickly gleeful in his eyes, and Mikey wanted to  _run away._

But without warning, the hostile, bright eyes flicked to a spot just behind the youngest Hamato, and whatever the man saw there had him turning his back and moving swiftly away.

Mikey watched him leave and hardly dared to breathe. Then a hand landed on his shoulder and he  _jumped,_ and would have twisted away if he hadn't realized who it was by the second hand that fell to his hair a moment later.

"Easy, Mikey," his oldest brother said, worried and soothing and easily the polar opposite of the frightening man that had already disappeared into the thinning crowd. It was such an  _immense_ comfort that Mikey could have started crying right there. He buried himself in the front of Leo's jacket instead, and pressed closer when Leo's arms tightened around him. "Hey... are you sure you're up for dinner? Maybe we should just head home."

Leo must not have noticed the stranger. He must have thought Mikey was just acting spacey because he was sick.

And maybe it was that intuition Hob had mentioned, or just the same sort of sixth sense rabbits had when they felt a hawk in the sky, but Mikey swallowed the wild, leaping fear- along with everything he wanted to say, about that stranger, and him knowing Raph, and how freaked out Mikey's whole _world_ was now- and managed to laugh instead.

"No, I'm- I'm good. Promise."


	14. Scar Tissue - Part 1

Okay, so  _technically,_  Mikey was supposed to stay home. He was still sort of running a fever, and all three of his brothers had looked really reluctant to leave him in the morning, and he _had_ promised Leo he would take it easy...

But no one ever said he wasn't allowed to leave the apartment. It was just sort of... implied.

So it was with a mostly clear conscience that Mikey caught a bus to Murray Hill- the one in Queens, not the one near Manhattan. It was only a few miles east of Flushing, barely a ten minute drive from their apartment when the traffic was good. He would be back way before his brothers got home.

Mikey eased into a seat near the front of the bus and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He was so  _tired._

Usually being sick came with lots and lots of drinking soup and drifting in and out of sleep, but lately he couldn't really stomach much food, and he barely slept at all. It seemed like every time Mikey closed his eyes,  _he_  was there- that terrifying man from the soccer field, with his weirdly bright eyes and twisted smile- and that mental image wasn't exactly conducive to getting any amount of rest.

Mikey shivered, and rubbed his arms through the thin sleeves of his hoodie.

He didn't want to tell his brothers. He didn't want them to have  _anything_ to do with that creep, especially not if he was out to make trouble for Raphael. Mikey was half-hoping the whole thing would just disappear.

But there was a sick, anxious twist in his stomach, and he was beginning to think he had "intuition," after all... though it certainly wasn't looking like any  _good_ would come out of it.

"You sure this is your stop, kid?"

Pulled abruptly out of his thoughts, Mikey blinked up at the bus driver, and then out the window.

The station  _was_ maybe a little sketchy-looking, with nothing but a payphone and a few dudes lingering by the curb; that was probably why the bus driver was turned in his seat to look back at Mikey with a furrowed brow, but the youngest Hamato teetered to his feet with a reassuring smile.

"Sure I'm sure. I'm meeting my friend here."

Well, in theory anyway. Mikey leaned against the payphone and dug out his phone with a frown as the bus pulled away, making sure he got the time right. But no, he'd said nine-thirty. And Leatherhead said he'd be there to pick him up. And that conversation had only been about an hour ago.

_Huh. Where are you, buddy?_

He took a seat on the bench, because he was feeling just a tiny bit light-headed, and glanced down the street. As the minutes dragged by, Mikey thought he could probably find Leatherhead's apartment from the station; it couldn't have been more than three or four blocks away. It was near a church, if he remembered right...

Thankfully, one of the men waiting by the road knew what "dark-reddish, sorta small, with like a cross out front" church he was talking about, and pointed him in the right direction.

It was close to nine-fifty when Mikey started down the street, and he couldn't help the quiet worry that was starting to nag at the back of his mind. Sure, he hadn't known Leatherhead very long, but Mikey knew him well enough. He wasn't the type to just bail.

The walk from the station to Leatherhead's place was about as long as the ride from Flushing to Murray Hill. Mikey sorta had to take it easy, and stopped twice when it felt like he was gonna fall over, but made it to the apartment building safe and sound and feeling victorious.

But the glee fell away when Mikey noticed the old red hatchback parked by the curb.

 _That's his car,_ he thought uneasily, starting up the stairs to his apartment at a trot. Thankfully, his pal lived on the second floor, and within a few minutes he was knocking on the door.

"Leatherhead? Buddy? Hey, it's Mike," he called through the wood. "Uh, you weren't at the station so I just came over. Dude?"

There was no answer, and Mikey frowned. He reached into his pocket for his phone again, wondering if he should try calling, and about that time something fell with a  _thunk_ that shook the floor _,_ followed by the sound of breaking glass or porcelain. Mikey jumped, heart lurching painfully.

"Woah! L, you okay in there?"

There was no answer, but something inside shattered like a  _gunshot_.

Thoroughly freaked out, Mikey grabbed the doorknob. It was locked, of course it was, so he dropped to his knees without a thought and scrambled to get under the welcome mat for the spare key. Coming up with the key in hand, he made short work of unlocking the door throwing it open wide.

If it had been a robbery or something, a short fourteen year old coming off a bad fever probably wouldn't have inspired much fear in the criminal's heart, but it wasn't anything like that.

It was all Leatherhead, on a rage-induced  _rampage,_ and the sight of him had Mikey frozen in the doorway.

The apartment looked like a crime scene, furniture upended and broken glass and plastic littered across what seemed like every square inch of the floor. The bright laminate countertop in the kitchenette was smeared with something wet and red, and Mikey's stomach turned anxiously.

His eyes flew to his friend, whose shoulders were heaving, chest swelling and collapsing hard and fast, fists clenched and dripping-

"Leatherhead?" Mikey tried softly, eyes wide. "Hey... man, you're bleeding."

Leatherhead didn't give any indication he'd heard him, still sucking in those harsh, gigantic breaths, so Mikey eased a few steps inside and shut the door carefully behind him. He had no clue what was going on, but he knew intuitively, somehow, that panic and noise would make everything worse. Picking his way cautiously and quietly across the floor, Mikey cleared his throat from about an arm's length away.

"Buddy? Leatherhead? Can you hear me?"

Touching his friend's arm was the absolute last-ditch appeal, but one that, after what felt like a whole minute had gone by, Mikey resorted to. Taking a deep breath and holding it, his fingers crossed the space between them and landed, feather-light, on Leatherhead's shoulder.

 _That_ got his attention.

As quickly as he'd been in that alley when they first met, when he'd thrown that Purple Dragon punk against the bricks, Leatherhead had Mikey pinned to the wall so hard it hurt. Head spinning, Mikey didn't say a word. Or blink. Or even breathe that much.

Leatherhead was  _big._ And his hands were like steel where they gripped Mikey's arms, unrelenting and staining the cheerful orange of Mikey's hoodie a brown, rusty color. And looking up at him, Mikey was  _scared_.

Because his eyes were wide and frantic and terrified and- gone. L wasn't there, he wasn't in the apartment, he was somewhere else. Somewhere awful and dark, someplace so terrible it was driving him crazy. Scared for him, Mikey didn't move.

"Leatherhead?" he whispered, searching his friend's face for any sign of recognition. It was like he was having a nightmare while he was awake, and Mikey didn't know what to do. He racked his brain for a breathless moment, and landed on the comforting litany he usually got from his brothers, when they woke him up from a bad dream. Something like that- maybe something like that would work. "It's me- it's Michelangelo. If you can hear me, you're home. You're home at your apartment. It's still morning, and the rain stopped hours ago. It's a nice day out. It's just you and me here, safe and sound. You're safe, buddy. You're home."

The bruising hands didn't loosen around his shoulders even a little, but Leatherhead's breathing started to even out. Mikey took that as a good sign.

The light didn't come back to Leatherhead's eyes for what felt like  _hours,_ and Mikey just kept talking until it did, over the frantic pounding of his own heart.


	15. Scar Tissue - Part 2

"What are you  _doing?"_

Well, he was trying to get this shelf back on its feet, obviously. Panting, Mikey even turned to say as much over his shoulder, when suddenly large hands were lifting his own away from the overturned shelf in question.

"You don't- you don't need to do this. You're still sick. You should be resting."

Mikey blinked up at his tall friend, biting down on the edge of a smile as he tried to quell the ridiculous surge of relief filling his chest like a balloon.

When Leatherhead had finally come back to the world, it wasn't quite all the way. His eyes were human again, but still a little lost, and it was almost docile the way he had let Mikey lead him to the sofa. He just sat silently as Mikey made a huge mess of his first aid kit, blinking like he was miles underwater while his hands were practically mummified in antiseptic and gauze.

Now, though, he was alert and anxious, and his eyes were stark green and worried, and he looked so much like Raphael it made Mikey want to hug him.

Actually, honestly, Mikey wanted to hug him anyway. So he pulled away, ignoring the stricken look on Leatherhead's face at the move, and plowed into him instead, every bit like a particularly affectionate orange octopus.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he muffled happily. Leatherhead's hands fell- gingerly, cautiously- around him in turn.

"I didn't hurt you?" his friend asked softly, and Mikey stood back enough to look up at him, infusing as much earnest sincerity as he could into his voice as he replied.

"Not even close."

It took a minute, but it worked. Leatherhead's eyes slid closed in a relief so bare it seemed to shake him. Then he was turning Mikey around by the shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen table. Mikey was deposited carefully into one of the chairs, and Leatherhead moved away to set a kettle on the stove.

Watching him, the worry came sliding back. Mikey had kept himself busy before, cleaning up the trashed apartment, but now he let himself wonder.

 _What_ was  _that?_

Leatherhead was... nice. Mild-mannered, quiet- he was a really nice guy. Obviously there was kind of a mean streak in him, since he didn't have any reservations about leaving a Purple Dragon in an alley with probably a concussion, but that was to help Mikey and Kitty, so that was different.

What Mikey saw earlier...

Plenty of people had anger issues. Raph used to get downright  _violent_ in his, and even Don was prone to the occassional emotional outburst. In lieu of the family dojo, a good tantrum now and then was just an  _outlet,_ a way for his brothers to vent rage or frustration or worry that got pushed to the back of their minds and bottled up too long.

What Mikey saw earlier wasn't  _anger issues_. Maybe it looked that way to some people, maybe that's what Leatherhead would try to tell him it was, but Mikey wouldn't buy into that for a second, because he  _knew_ better.

And, sure. It wasn't his business. It was obviously something intensely personal, and Mikey figured- well, Leatherhead hadn't known him long enough to trust him as implicitly as he trusted Leatherhead in turn. And Mikey totally understood! Leatherhead didn't owe him an explanation, no way; everyone was due some privacy, everyone had their secrets, and as long as LH was okay, then Mikey was okay.

But still...

The closest to that awful expression on Leatherhead's face that Mikey had ever seen before was the expression on Leonardo's the night they had to miss their father's funeral. It wasn't the same, but it was still terrible, and Mikey didn't know how he was supposed to function normally now that he knew his friend was hurting so badly.

"Michelangelo?"

Mikey blinked, and pulled his gaze up from the tabletop. Leatherhead was hovering an arm's length away with a steaming mug in hand, looking remarkably uncertain for someone in his own kitchen. Mikey smiled, and sat up straighter.

"Is that for me?"

"Um- yes, it's yarrow tea. It should help with your fever." Mikey accepted the cup and watched as his friend moved around to take the seat next to him. Once Leatherhead was sitting down, he hesitated for all of a minute before blurting, "I attacked you. I remember."

"All you did was grab me, dude," Mikey said with a shrug. He took a quick sip of his tea, and made a face because it was bitter, but nowhere near as bad as Don's coffee. "I mean, maybe I'll have some bruises tomorrow, but I've come home from _soccer practice_ before with worse than that. It's no big deal."

"But you were scared."

Mikey finally let himself frown, and set his cup down.

"I'm not afraid of you, Leatherhead. And I wasn't before, either. You were hurt, and I didn't know how to help you.  _That_ scared me." Mikey glanced down for a fortifying moment, and then up again. "I still want to help you. I mean- you don't have to... explain. Or tell me what happened. Or anything, I just... wanna know that  _you_ know that you can count on me. So I wanna know what I need to do for you when things get bad again. But only if you wanna tell me."

Leatherhead didn't say anything for what felt like a long time. He just sat there, with the strangest look on his face, and Mikey didn't squirm under the scrutiny even a little bit. Finally, his friend said, "Why do you call me that?"

Blinking at the sudden change of subject, it took Mikey a second to switch gears. "Uhh, you mean Leatherhead? Well, I had to call you somethin', dude, it's not like you introduced yourself."

With the edge of a smile, Leatherhead said, "Fair enough. But why that?"

"'Cause... you wear a lot of leather," Mikey said lamely. When Leatherhead raised an eyebrow he flushed and picked his tea up again. "You kind of remind me of an alligator. Wait... Do you not like your nickname? Is that what this is about? Dude, why didn't you say something before?"

Shaking his head, Leatherhead scooted his chair back from the table and turned until he faced Mikey.

"Let me show you something."

Leatherhead's hair was cut in a sort of half shave; the left side of his head was razored down to maybe an inch long, while the right was completely obscured by the thick, dark ghost gray that fell almost to his shoulder and nearly concealed his right eye. It was sort of a side mohawk, all the hair styled carefully over to the right, and Mikey thought it looked awesome. He'd even told LH before that his hair was  _"maximum rad,"_ a remark that had been met with a soft huff of laughter.

Now, Mikey watched curiously as Leatherhead gathered his hair and pulled it back, pulled it up, revealing the right side of his scalp.

The side of his scalp that, as it turned out, was covered in the soft, rippled pink of healed scars.

Burn scars.

Mikey set his mug down too hard. His stunned gaze fell from Leatherhead's scars to his eyes, and suddenly he was blinking through blurring tears.

"Do you hate me?"

"Of course not."

"I gave you the worst nickname."

"Because I remind you of an alligator," his friend said gently, and Mikey scrubbed his face with his sleeve. Letting his hair flop back into place, Leatherhead added, "Michelangelo, I didn't show you to make you cry. I showed you because... well, it's the first part of my story. If you still want to hear it."

Nodding fiercely, Mikey said, "I do. I do, I want to hear everything. But I also want a hug."

With a sigh that was probably supposed to come across long-suffering and really just came across fond, Leatherhead said, "Then come here. And bring the tea."

Mikey flew into his arms, and left the tea. Who cared about a dumb fever?


	16. Scar Tissue - Part 3

As it turned out, getting Mikey up the stairs to his apartment was a two man job- well, okay, Leatherhead probably could have carried him pretty easily. Unfortunately, Mikey was out to prove a point.

"I'm  _fine,_ " he said for like the fiftieth time, and it sounded  _really_ convincing. Really. But Leatherhead's frown thinned a little anyway, and his supporting hands on Mikey's shoulders tightened there.

"You should have stayed home today."

"Pshh, no way, bro. I'm glad I got to see you. Ooh, here's me, 505."

It was leaning pretty close to two in the afternoon, and his brothers would be getting home soon. Mikey hadn't actually set out to play such a dangerous game, but walking into the warzone at LH's place- and then getting a huge bomb dropped on his head for good measure- saw his schedule getting pushed back a little bit.

It was no big deal though, since, hey- he made it!

Leatherhead lingered in the kitchen while Mikey made his way down the hall toward his bedroom, nudging the door closed behind him with a foot and changing into Spiderman lounge pants (his) and The Who t-shirt (Raph's)- the outfit he'd been living in for the past almost-week spent as an invalid couch potato. His hoodie was still at Leatherhead's, on the (cleaned) kitchen counter, because the dude apparently knew a mad easy way to get bloodstains out of clothes.

And not for any, like, suspicious reasons, either. LH was just crazy smart.

Like...  _Donnie_ smart.

* * *

"I'm studying astrophysics," Leatherhead had said back at his apartment, way too casually, pouring Mikey another cup of weird tea like it was totally normal tea-sipping conversation. He even looked vaguely surprised at Mikey's gobsmacked expression, and added, "I'm taking classes at Cornell's NYC campus, didn't I tell you?"

"Uhh,  _no!_ That's like- dude, I knew you were smart, but holy  _cats._ That's outer space science! Outer space science is off the chain!"

Leatherhead had looked pleased, a wide smile tugging across his face.

"Both of my parents were Cornell alumni," he'd said, proudly, in kind of the same way Leo would talk about his brothers when he didn't know they were listening. It was what love sounded like, Mikey thought, in its quietest, secretest form. "After they adopted me, it only made sense that I would be, too, someday."

Mikey had blinked at him with the mug suspended halfway to his mouth; that was a curveball he hadn't seen coming. "You were adopted?"

"Yeah. When I was really young."

"What happened to your other parents?"

"They died in a car accident. I was in the crash with them, though, obviously, I survived."

Which...  _yikes_. Mikey couldn't help looking sad for him, and  _really_ sorry he'd asked, and Leatherhead tapped him on the head like a hundred-times-watered-down version of the patented Raphael Head Smack.

"Hey, I grew up happy. My adoptive parents were amazing people. It's not the same life I would have had before the accident, but it was still a good one."

And Mikey had nodded, because he understood that. Growing up in a house with a mom and a dad would have been... nice, probably? Maybe? But he had his brothers, and for awhile he had sensei, and he'd honestly never ever even thought to wish for more than that. Maybe it wasn't the life he  _would_ have had, but  _that_ life was a foreign and faraway concept, like another country a million oceans away, and Mikey was comfy-cozy where he was at.

Not to say Mikey didn't wish for anything at all. He  _did_ wish for some stuff, sometimes. Impossible stuff. Magic star stuff. Stuff like,  _I wish Leo could have been a kid with us a little while longer,_ or  _I wish sensei was still alive._

Newly, though, he found himself wishing that the Utroms' lab had never caught fire- that they hadn't been caught inside, that Leatherhead hadn't been visiting them at work that day. He survived two terrible accidents in his life, and both of them took his families away, and made him alone-

And  _somehow_ , even though it left heavy marks on him, LH was still standing, all on his own.

"It's... I have... From what I've read, I have a case of PTSD." He had looked so uncomfortable, so uncertain, not quite looking Mikey in the face anymore. "Which sounds- I mean, it's the type of thing  _war veterans_ have, not college students. I should be able to just handle it, and I can't even- I fly off the handle out of  _nowhere,_ I don't even know what sets it off- "

"Dude," Mikey had said sort of gently, reaching for his arm. "I don't know a ton about PTSD- we only sort of covered it in Psych- but I'm pretty sure it's not something you're _supposed_ to be able to handle on your own."

He'd watched Leatherhead cast a quick, furtive glance around his somewhat bare apartment, hand clenching tightly around Mikey's for a split second. Then in a moment of quiet bravery, met Mikey's eyes and said, "I've been called a monster."

Mikey hadn't asked who by, hadn't even let himself wonder. The last person Leatherhead had let close had let him down- that was all Mikey needed to know.

"That's stupid. Monsters don't rescue cats from alleys," Mikey had said, face settling into something close to a scowl. He would dig in his heels and  _fight_ Leatherhead on this point if he had to- but from the raw expression on his friend's face that wouldn't be necessary. Somewhat softer, with a cheesy grin to lighten the mood, Mikey added, "You aren't a monster, L, you're my friend. And I may be totally useless at this, but I'm still gonna help you, no matter what. There's literally no getting rid of me now that I'm here- if you don't trust me, ask  _anyone_."

"No," he'd said, staring at Mikey like he'd never quite seen him in the right light before, "I trust you."

* * *

When Mikey couldn't quite manage the usual easily walkable distance between his room and the kitchen, stopping halfway and leaning against the wall for a breather, Leatherhead gave him a  _Look,_ capital L.

Mikey gave his head a few seconds to stop spinning and then opened his mouth.

"If you say you're fine, I'm calling your brothers and ratting you out," his friend said shortly, and Mikey shut his mouth again, so fast his teeth clicked together too hard. LH shook his head as he guided Mikey carefully to the lumpy sofa in the living room. In a softer voice, he added, "I really should call Leonardo."

"Nooo, L, dooon't." Totally not above begging, Mikey made his eyes as big and pleading as he could. "He's off work at four anyway, and Raph and Donnie get out at three. I'll be here alone for an hour, tops. What could happen?"

"When it's you, anything," came the flat reply. "Do you need anything before I go? Medicine, or- ?"

"Nah, I'm gonna fall asleep probably." Mikey shuffled a little against his pillows and tugged the blanket into a more comfortable position, grinning when Leatherhead ruffled his hair with some recalcitrant fondness. "Oh hey, thanks for the ride home, dude. Beats taking the bus, like woah."

"It's fine. Hey, can I ask- I mean..." His friend waffled for a moment, and then sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Why did you want to come over today? You know you're always welcome," he added quickly. "But it must have been important, you were so adamant about it even though you're sick."

Mikey blinked at him. He'd forgotten all about it after the stuff with Leatherhead, but that cold, anxious dread come sliding right back into the pit of his stomach like a snake. It must have shown on his face somehow, because Leatherhead's gray-green eyes went all flinty and narrow, and even though Mikey didn't actually a hundred percent want to talk about it anymore, LH looked ready to get stubborn.

With an uncomfortable shrug, Mikey hedged, "I, uh, met this guy, and... well, I just wanted to know if you've seen him around, or whatever, since you know like a million more people than I do, maybe you've heard of him."

Leatherhead stared at him, head tilting to one side by like an inch to project his confusion. "A guy? What's his name?"

"I- don't know? He didn't really introduce himself, just sorta... said... Uh, he's got like, weird tattoos, and maybe like a hundred peircings, and he's about as tall as  _you._ And his eyes were  _intense,_ like blue or green, or blue-and-green. I don't really- "

"Stay away from him."

Mikey blinked, a knot forming in his stomach at the stricken look on Leatherhead's face.

"I mean it, Michelangelo," he continued, leaning over to put a heavy hand on Mikey's arm. There was something white-hot and fierce and next to desperate in his words, and Mikey swallowed hard. " _Stay away from him."_

Well,  _that_ didn't exactly inspire comfort.


	17. Family Matters - Part 1

The weekend was too short, that relentless Monday morning rolling around bright and early. Mikey opened his eyes to muted sunlight, and laid still for a handful of long minutes.

 _"Give my regards to Raphael,"_ said the Bogeyman out of Mikey's nightmares, with a stretching, twisting smile that pulled around from one ear to the other, and bright, unblinking turquoise eyes. There in the back of Mikey's mind, whether he was awake or asleep.

Mikey sat up slowly, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of his bedroom, the blanket under his fingers, the sound of his family down the hall. It worked every time, sometimes slowly, and Mikey rubbed his eyes when his hands stopped shaking.

Officially a week since the soccer game, he hadn't been getting more than three, maybe four hours of sleep a night. It was probably the reason why he'd been sick for days longer than usual- why his bones felt like concrete, why he seemed to always have a headache lately.

But he  _had_ to go to school. He'd missed a week! Donatello brought him his homework and study guides and stuff, so he wasn't really behind, but Mikey knew if he missed  _one more day,_ Leo would break and give in to worry and haul him off to the hospital.

 _No, thank you,_ he thought, and climbed out of bed.

"You sure you're up to this?" Raph asked,  _again,_  over breakfast- bargain brand Cocoa Puffs, since Mikey woke up too late to fix anything else- and Mikey made a face at him. Leo and Don had left already, so Raph was alone in scowling and jabbing his spoon in Mikey's direction. "Don't gimme that look, knucklehead. I'm askin' cause you look like crap."

"For the record, girls don't like hearing they look like crap," Mikey confided with a grin, and ducked Raph's hand when it came in for a swat.

"For the record, you're a brat," his brother said, but he sounded at least a little relieved.

As Raph stood up from the table, dishes in hand, Mikey took a deep, quiet breath and made a decision. He couldn't keep stressing out his brothers by dragging around the house like a zombie, and his chores were starting to pile up. He  _had_ to get some of that missing energy back. He'd start drinking coffee with Donnie in the morning, maybe, or energy drinks at lunch, and be back to himself in no time.

Mikey dumped his cereal out in the sink and went in search of his shoes. Everything was gonna be okay.

* * *

_Nothing_ was gonna be okay.

"There's a  _what_ tomorrow?" Mikey yelped, and his algebra teacher gave him a really long-suffering look. Probably because his voice carried through the class she was trying to teach and turned everyone's eyes from the whiteboard to their little powwow by the door, but what did she  _expect?_ Mikey got a pass from the office to go hand back all of the homework he'd done over the past week, and here she was dropping a bomb in the five minute window he had to get back to homeroom.

"A  _test,_ Michelangelo. Worth twenty percent of your final grade. The one I warned you about at the beginning of the month. The one outlined in your class syllabus."

"Well,  _yeah,_ but... " He glanced down, and fought back a sigh that probably would have come across as kind of disrespectful. "Yeah, okay."

_Ughhhhhhhh._

He spent the free period in art shuffling hopelessly through the algebra study guide he'd sort of been ignoring. It was like trying to read a really foreign language. By the time lunch rolled around Donnie found him at their table in the cafeteria, with his face planted in his math book and defeat in every inch of his body.

"What is this, learning by osmosis?" Donnie teased gently, sliding his backpack to the floor and setting down his lunch tray as he took the seat across the table from him. Mikey mumbled something unintelligible, and felt a hand on his hair. "Lift up, lemme see."

Mikey sat up and pushed the math book over agreeably, reaching for the giant Rockstar he'd bought with his lunch money. He popped the tab as Donatello said, "You've been having trouble with math? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I meant to ages ago, but I kept forgetting!" No one could say he hadn't meant to, the month-old test laying back home somewhere was  _proof_ he meant to. Thankfully, Donnie seemed to be on the same page, because his brown eyes softened.

"A lot's been going on recently, huh?" He tapped his fingers on the glossy pages of the textbook and said, "Leo's really good at math, too. How 'bout we order a pizza tonight and help you cram?" His big brother grinned, and added, like Mikey needed extra incentive, "I have orange notecards."

Mikey felt his mouth tug into a smile just as bright as Donnie's. "You're the best, D."

Raph threw himself into the seat by Mikey's at that point, rattling the table. Mikey seized his drink protectively before it could topple over, and Donatello raised an eyebrow. "Graceful as ever, Raph."

"Put a sock in it," their brother said without heat. He was scanning the cafeteria, and his mouth tugged into a frown after a moment. Glancing their way, he asked, "Either o' you seen Jones today?"

Mikey didn't have any classes with Casey, but he hadn't seen him in the halls anywhere. As he shook his head, Donnie frowned. "Actually, he wasn't in homeroom this morning. He wasn't in your shop class?"

"Nah, and we were testin' the engine today, he was pumped about it." There was worry in every line of Raph's face, stark in the green of his eyes. Then abruptly he glanced at Mikey, and down at the lack of tray in front of him. "Where's your lunch?"

Mikey held up his Rockstar. Raph scowled.

"Are you kidding me? That's not- oh, hey, April." He stood up to meet their honorary sister as she came over, and Mikey couldn't see his face anymore but hers was a little anxious. They were just far enough away that he couldn't hear their conversation over the noise of the cafeteria, so he traded a quick look with Donnie.

"What's all that about?"

"Dunno," Donnie said, a faint wrinkle in his brow. He blinked himself out of it after a second and picked up half his PB&J with a sideways smile, handing it across the table. "Here, split this with me so Raph doesn't have a cow."

But when Raph sat back down, he barely looked at either of them. He had his phone out, scrolling tersely through text messages, and the rest of their lunch went pretty quietly.


	18. Family Matters - Part 2

Algebra was so embarrassing.

Mikey was pretty sure Mrs. Matthews was trying to humiliate him at least a little bit, by calling on him like a hundred times in a row, but it didn't really work—in the sense that no one in the class snickered or sneered at him for consistently getting the answers wrong. No, the  _embarrassing_ part was how dumb he felt, staring at all the letters and numbers and symbols on the whiteboard and having absolutely no clue how to make them make sense.

(6 x4)(2 y2) / [ (3 x2)(12 y) ] 

What did that even  _mean?_

 _Donnie got most of the smarts,_ he thought with a sinking sense of defeat.  _Raph and Leo got the rest of them. My brothers are great at everything and I… can make hot chocolate French toast._

And in no way would breakfast food recipes help him understand  _equations._ As far as talent went, Mikey totally got the short end of the stick in his family.

A classmate finally came to his rescue the fourth time he dragged his feet up to the whiteboard. Mikey didn't know her very well—he knew her family owned a local jewelry store, and she had a thing for antique watches—but she shoved her hand in the air and spoke up without waiting to be called on.

"He's been, like,  _sick._ Cut him some slack maybe? And this isn't helping us review for the test tomorrow, like, at  _all,_ even."

After that Mrs. Matthews  _did_  cut him some slack—maybe a little rueful as she sent him back to his seat, but that could have just been wishful thinking— and then passed out a practice test for them to work on for the rest of the period. When she stepped into the hall to answer a phone call a little later on, Mikey carefully lobbed a pencil eraser at his defender's arm, and smiled at her when she turned around with a blink of wide grey eyes.

"Thanks for the save," he said, and she grinned right back. She had dimples, and earrings shaped like clocks, and a really friendly face.

"Hey, it's like,  _math._ We gotta stick together, y'know?"

* * *

Raph caught Mikey in the passing period after Algebra, drawing him to one side of the crowded hall so they didn't get run over and announcing without preamble, "You're ridin' home with Don after school, okay?"

Mikey blinked at him.

"Sure, but why?"

"'Cause I'm headed to Jones' right after I get outta here, and I might be over there awhile. I dunno yet."

At that, Mikey stared. Raph didn't to Casey's house, ever. Even Casey didn't go to Casey's house; Donnie said once that he put in more face time at the O'Neils' than he did his own home, and April had smiled a little, but hadn't argued the point. Mikey didn't know why, didn't know the details, and even though he'd wondered every now and then, he never asked; because Casey could talk forever about hockey and April and the crazy junk he and Raph got up to when they were left unsupervised—but he never, ever talked about his family.

And for a guy who was so open about the stuff he liked and loved, what he  _didn't_ say said a lot.

It was a little sad, and must have been pretty lonely, and Mikey thought Raph thought it was Mr. Jones' fault somehow.

"So," Mikey ventured slowly, when his brother didn't elaborate, "you think Casey's sick or something?"

"Or somethin'." Raph paused, sighed shortly, then reached over and ruffled Mikey's hair. "Look, you just worry about your math test, alright? Don't worry about Jones."

"But, I could go with you—"

"I said  _don't worry._  Go to class. I'll tell Donnie he's driving you home."

And with that his brother gave him a slight shove towards B Wing and took off the opposite way, without another word. Mikey watched him go for a moment, then hefted his bookbag a little higher over his shoulder and made his way towards Psych with an annoyed huff.

 _Stupid, pushy big brothers._  ' _Don't worry_ ,'  _he says, like it's_ easy.

"Right," Mikey muttered, maybe a little unfairly, "'cause math's the  _only_  thing I've got to worry about."

He barely made it to class, and Mr. Scoresby gave him an amused look as he scampered to his desk with seconds to spare. They were going to be watching a movie about a girl with multiple personality disorder, and usually Mikey was a hundred percent on board with movies during class. It was pretty much the best, especially when they were actual movies and not like educational, or documentaries or whatever- and  _especially_ when there wasn't gonna be a worksheet afterwards.

But this time, as soon as the lights dimmed and the teacher hit play, Mikey slipped his textbook out of his bag and cracked it open. They hadn't studied PTSD in class, but there was a whole section on it near the middle of the— _there._

Mikey leaned close to read in the semi-dark, drinking up page after page.

* * *

"I give up," Mikey announced to the room at large that night, dropping his head in his hands. "This is hopeless."

"That's not like you," Leo admonished, flipping through Mikey's textbook. Everything came so easily to Leo; Mikey wished he was more like him. "Besides, you're getting the hang of it."

"We've been doing this forever, and I  _still_ got like ten questions wrong on the practice test D just gave me."

"Out of thirty-eight," Donnie said. "That's a C, Mikey. That's passing."

Mikey blinked, and lifted his head at the same time Leo got up to answer a knock at the front door. "Wait, it is?"

"It is," his genius brother said, with the hint of a smile, "but you can do better than a C. So- "

" _What happened?"_

Leo's voice was enough to send Don and Mikey spinning in his direction; in time to watch Casey step inside with Leo bracing him by the shoulders. One good look at their friend's face and Mikey lurched to his feat, hearing Donnie's chair scrape against the tile floor as he leapt up, too.

"My old man happened," Casey said quietly, looking everywhere but at any of them. He was wincing with every step, and one of his eyes was blackened and swollen shut. "Wouldn't have come over lookin' like this, but- Raph took off, probably to go do something really stupid, an' I- "

Leo's eyes were dark, and Donnie rushed over to help Casey into the living room. It was usually all barbs and banter between the two of them, but there was none of that as Don eased him onto the sofa, his hands lingering on Casey's shoulders. "Do we need to call an ambulance?" he asked quietly, and Casey looked like he wanted to swear.

" _No,_ shit, just- Leo, we gotta find Raph. I dunno where he went, but he's  _pissed._ My dad wasn't home when he came over, thank  _god,_  but- _"_

"I'll find him." There was something about to break or snap in Leo's voice, something angry and icy and  _fierce;_ but he still squeezed Don's arm on his way past, and pressed a kiss to the top of Mikey's head, and leveled a stern, no-nonsense look at Casey as he grabbed his coat and keychain from the hook by the front door. "Stay here," he said firmly, "all three of you."

And he left.

Mikey sank into the seat next to Casey, still trying to process everything that had happened in the window of the last five-ish minutes; and staring openly at Casey's face, at the bruises and broken skin, because he couldn't help it. It was  _alarming,_ because his  _dad_ did that. His dad! Sensei would have never-  _Leo_  would never-

"God," Casey said after a moment, "this is so jacked up."

"A little," Mikey whispered back.


	19. Family Matters - Part 3

Mikey got Casey a glass of ice water, handing it over as he reclaimed his seat next to him on the sofa. Casey took it wordlessly and took a drink, and the water was tinted pink almost immediately. Mikey tried not to look at it.

The first aid kit was sitting open on the floor next to where Donnie was kneeling in front of Casey, and everything was quiet while he worked, spreading antiseptic over broken skin with the pads of his fingers. The turtle clock in the kitchen ticked the seconds away, and finally Casey broke the silence with, "You don't look very surprised."

He wasn't looking at either of them, but Mikey knew he meant Donnie—because he was pretty sure  _he_  looked surprised, and because Donnie answered a second later.

"No."

"Hard to surprise a know-it-all like you." Casey's hand clenched around the glass, smearing the beads of condensation into wet streaks. "Was it that obvious? Did ya know this whole time?"

Donnie didn't look away from his careful ministrations, not even for a second to look Casey in the eye, almost like he couldn't. But the edges of his mouth firmed, and something resilient crept into his eyes as he replied, "Of course we didn't know. You think Raph would have waited until  _now_ to pick a fight with your dad if we  _knew?"_

Mikey almost flinched at that admission, truly alarmed. His brother was going  _toward_ the evil guy that did that to Casey's face? On purpose?

_Oh, man. Find him, Leo._

"But I mean, come on," Donnie continued. "You never want to be at home, you never want to talk about your family. It's like pulling teeth to get anything out of you about your mom or your sister, and your dad's been practically like a  _ghost_ for as long as I've known you." Turning away, Don rooted through the kit for some gauze, every move telegraphed and halting, like he was made of something fragile and brittle and if he moved too hard or too fast he'd break into pieces. He was  _angry,_ Mikey realized, eyes going round. He'd translated Don's silences and body language his whole life, and he could tell—his brother wasn't looking at Casey because he was  _mad,_ so mad he was about to come apart with it. "And you think I  _knew?_ You really think that?"

Casey might have sensed danger, too, because he jerked his head up to look at Donnie properly, eyebrows knitting together. "Don—"

"I didn't know  _anything,_ Jones!" Donnie shouted, throwing everything down. There was snapping fury in his eyes when he whirled around—eyes that looked closer to red than brown in the warm lights of the living room, red and worried and hurt. "I didn't know  _anything,_ alright? Every time you were late to April's, every time you canceled plans, we worried, and feared the worst, and when we  _reached out_ , you  _shut us out._  Your mom passed away, and your aunt took your little sister, and I found out from the _guidance counselor,_ because she thought you would have told me already _._  But you didn't even tell _April!_ How could you keep stuff like that to yourself? How could you think we wouldn't care?"

Watching with wide eyes, Mikey curled his arms around his center and did his best to all but disappear. When Donnie was on a rampage, it was best just not to interrupt and let him run out of steam on his own.

And honestly, Mikey didn't know what to say, anyway. He hadn't known  _any_ of that.

Casey had a key to their apartment, just like April did; he picked up groceries for them sometimes, and came over for dinner a lot, and everyone at school lumped them all together like siblings, and Mikey had always thought they treated Casey just like family.

He'd always thought Casey felt like he was family.

"Cause it's none o' your business!" Casey shouted back, something more wounded than rage propelling him off the couch. He dropped the glass, and it fell harmlessly to the thick rug with a  _thud_ , water and a few half-melted ice cubes sinking a puddle into the cotton. "Why  _should_ y' care? It's not about you guys, none o' you guys! It's  _family matters,_ and you're not—"

Don was on his feet, too, and he used his height the way he almost never did; stepped up into Casey's face because sometimes a fight was the only communication that would get through to him, and looked  _down_ as he cut in with, "Not  _what?_ Not  _family?"_

It was barely a question, and Casey blinked. Some of that not-rage faded out of his eyes, and he blinked again, on the threshold of backing down.  _It would be the smart thing to do,_  Mikey thought, hardly daring to breathe,  _but stupid, stubborn Casey doesn't know_ how _to do that._

He refused to think about what he learned in passing in Psych, about some of the defense mechanisms in people who were victims of abuse; couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that that's what  _Casey_  was. That maybe Casey  _had_  to be stupid and stubborn to get through life at home. That he  _had_  to be tough and sarcastic to be okay.

"Well?" Donnie prompted him acidly, and Casey jerked an inch back like he'd been stung.

"I," he started, and hesitated, searching Donnie's eyes. "I didn't—"

"I know you didn't," Donnie said, and managed to keep his voice even. "Because I know you know better. You're not an idiot, you just play one on T.V."

When he reached out, it was to plant his hands on Casey's shoulders and shove him back down onto the sofa. Casey let himself be sat, staring at Donnie when he knelt by the first aid kit again like he had no clue what to make of him.

The worst seemed to be over, so Mikey uncurled a little, watching the two of them carefully. After awhile, the stretching silence seemed to nudge Casey into speaking.

"I didn't want you involved in it. Y'know? Not Red, not you guys." Casey cut a quick glance around, trailing his eyes across their living room and its worn furniture, and the pictures on its walls, and all its evidence of home and brothers. "S'long as I kept you out of it, he couldn't touch you. Couldn't ruin this one last good thing I have. I lost the rest of my family, y'know? Didn't wanna lose anythin' else on top o' that."

Donnie shut the first aid kit and sat back on his heels, gazing at Casey silently. He looked  _disgruntled,_ there was no better word for it, and Mikey couldn't help but feel a little tug of disapproval, too.

"Hey," he piped up, frowning a little. "You haven't lost your family—we're sitting right here. I dunno what it is about big bros trying to do everything on their own, but we've always been  _right here._ Next time, just— come over. You have a  _key,_ dude, that means  _just come over._ You don't gotta call ahead, or knock, or even say 'hey' when you get here, just walk in and camp on the couch if that's what you feel like. Don't let that jerk hurt you when there's people who wanna help, and places you can go."

Casey was staring at him, and Donnie, too, a little bit, but—well, Mikey had stayed quiet as long as he could. And he wasn't as smart as Don or as old as Case, and he didn't know as much as either of them did about stuff and the world in general, but this was  _common sense._

He thought of Leatherhead, trying to keep two halves of his life separate for the sake of a new friend, and how desperately he'd held Mikey when Mikey wasn't afraid of his scars; he thought of Leo, who used to work next to seventy hours a week between two jobs, and how he used to pretend like it wasn't killing him.

And so Mikey was  _certain_ when he said, "I know you were trying to look out for us—that's just what family does. But doing it by yourself doesn't make sense."

He only glanced away when he realized Casey's eyes were wide and wet in a way they usually weren't—suddenly uncomfortable, he wasn't usually in the position of making people cry—but he wouldn't take back what he said. Not for the  _world._

"Just 'cause he's your dad, that doesn't mean he's your family," he continued, under the weight of their eyes. "Sometimes family is the people you find on your own—people you  _choose._ Who don't love you 'cause they have to, or 'cause they're, like… like, obligated to. They love you 'cause they like you, and they want to. Like how sensei found us, and like how the Utroms adopted Leatherhead, and like how you and April are my brother and sister even though we aren't related." Mikey rubbed a hand through his hair, a little flustered at how poorly he was explaining his train of thought. "It's just… how it is. It doesn't have to make sense, or be official, or whatever. And it doesn't have to be a mom and a dad and a daughter and a son, it doesn't have to be  _anything,_ it just has be  _good_. Y'know? No strings attached  _good._ Breakfast together, and birthday parties, and prank wars, and movie nights—that's family. And it's what you've got, here. It's always been  _here._ "

He wasn't expecting it when Casey fisted a hand in the shoulder of his shirt, hauling him into a rough embrace. Casey wasn't the hugging type, so it was more than a little surprising to be wrapped up in a hug by the guy instead of fistbumped or like, affectionately punched; but Mikey didn't hesitate to thread his arms around Casey in turn, 'cause that's what little brothers were for.

And when Raph and Leo got home half an hour later—both damp from rain and a little ruffled, but neither of them worse for wear—it was to find Casey and Mikey eating cold pizza and drawing cats and hockey masks, and cats in hockey masks, on one of the many algebra study guides while Donnie graded Mikey's latest attempt at a practice test.

"Guys! You're home!" Mikey hopped up from the table and rushed over, attaching himself to Raph's person and not-so-surreptitiously looking him over for any possible new bruises. "You don't look like you've been in a fight. Which is a good thing! You look good when you don't look like you've been in a fight, very handsome."

Raph rolled his eyes so hard Mikey was worried he'd sprain something and disentangled himself from Mikey's octopus arms with the ease of years of practice. Which was okay, because Leo needed a welcome-home hug anyway, and he took his like a man.

And it was from the circle of Leo's arms that Mikey watched Raph approach the table, standing by Casey's chair and looking down at him with an unreadable expression that Mikey could only see half of. Casey glanced up at him, and after a second he offered a crooked smile.

"Looks like my old man got off easy this time," he said, and some tension bled out of Raph's shoulders.

"Pfft, yeah,  _this_ time. He's lucky he wasn't at his usual dive," Raph muttered with half an attempt at good humor, peeling off his wet jacket and sinking into Mikey's abandoned chair. "And lucky Leo showed up when he did to drag my ass back home where I belong."

"Good job, Leo," Mikey whispered, and Leo smiled down at him, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Just, no more secrets, alright Jones?" Raph said, and Casey snorted, returning to his drawing like Raph's demand didn't even warrant his undivided attention.

"Secrets? You kiddin'?" He coupled the question with a wide, gap-toothed grin; an easy, familiar,  _I'm-at-home-here_ grin, and his eyes flicked over to meet Mikey's for a brief, knowing second before he glanced back at Raph and added, "Have you  _met_ my family? I know better than that."

Raph blinked, something slow and warm and delighted happening to his face. And honestly, after everything else, when Donnie held up the graded practice test and proudly announced, "B+!"—

that was just a bonus.


	20. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 1

"Leeeoooo, c'meeeeere," Mikey called from the kitchen table without so much as lifting his head. Leo and Don's bedroom door was open and he heard his oldest brother sigh, and Donnie laugh, before footsteps started down the hall.

Leo was a stickler about "inside voices."  _"It's not like we're living underground, guys, we have neighbors!"_ Pshh, neighbors schneighbors. Most of them were  _way_ louder than Mikey and his brothers, anyway. They could deal.

Mikey sat back in his chair, eyeing the grocery list he was working on. It wasn't so much the  _list_  that was the problem—he was awesome at this, had the coupons ready to go and everything—it was the money tucked into the envelope Leo had left next to his notebook earlier that morning.  _That,_ Mikey had to ask about.

"What have I told you about shouting through the house?" Leo said with practiced patience as he came up beside Mikey's chair. Mikey tilted his head back to look at him and grinned.

"To not to. Hey but, I think you counted wrong."

"What?"

Mikey picked up the envelope and waggled it at him. "There's like,  _way_  too much here, dude."

Leo blinked at him, and took the envelope. Opening it and sliding out the money, he thumbed through the bills in an almost cursory way, flicking a questioning glance at Mikey when he was done. "No, this is right." When Mikey's only response was an uncomprehending stare, Leo's mouth tugged into a smile. "Mikey, I told you the budget would be different after I started at the hospital."

"Yeah, you said  _different—_ you didn't say  _double._ Holy cats. For real?  _Dude."_

"I probably should have given you the new figure from the start, huh?" Leo said ruefully, dropping into the chair next to his. "You won't have to redo this whole thing, will you?"

Well, no. Mikey did all the grocery shopping, 'cause Mikey did all the cooking—and 'cause if left to their own devices his brothers would just come home with frozen dinners and mac and cheese—so he was kind of a pro at it. He always made a "definitely" list and a "maybe" list, essentials and extras separated onto different pages, and whatever he had coupons for got circled or colored.

(Couponing was  _hard,_ and he was awful at math, so he really only used the ones that said something like "3 for 1" or "fifty percent off". He told his bros a couple times, way back when, that maybe it'd be money better spent if the math whizz of the family was the one doing the spending, but they all pretty much just patted him on the head and told him he always did a great job and gave him free reign.

The losers just hated grocery shopping. Mikey knew what game they were playing.)

So all Mikey really had to do was add a bunch of stuff to the "definitely" list. No problemo.

"It's all good, I just gotta get a little crazy with the high-lighter." Mikey brandished the business end of said pink high-lighter at his brother, then gasped so sharply Leo jumped. " _Leo!"_

"Mikey,  _please_ stop shouting—"

"Okay, okay, but Leo, can I get Lucky Charms?"

He  _never_ got Lucky Charms. He never usually asked for Lucky Charms, either, unless he knew there was enough extra that Don could get the liquid coffee creamer he liked, and Raph could have Poptarts, and Leo could get the tea sensei got him hooked on. He was two seconds away from employing the biggest, bluest puppy dog eyes in his repertoire—a tactic that worked infamously well on Leonardo, ask anybody—when Leo smiled preemptively and ruffled his hair.

"You can get all the Lucky Charms you can carry." Mikey beamed at him and quickly circled the cereal with a flourish where it sat on his "maybe" list. "Speaking of which, you're sure you're good to go today? You know the rest of us won't be able to help."

He knew. His brothers were helping Casey today; he was moving out of his dad's house and into the O'Neils'. They only got the story secondhand from Donnie, but apparently Mr. O'Neil had said Casey had always felt like a son to him, anyway, and he only wished Casey would have been upfront with them about his situation from the beginning.

"There's nothing to talk about," Mr. O'Neil had said, "your home is with us now."

Mikey thought _all_  dads should be as cool as Kirby was, and sensei had been.

The past week Casey had been staying at the Hamatos' apartment, bunking on the couch like a long, awesome, extended sleepover; but come Saturday, the empty room in the O'Neils house was finally cleared out and ready to go, and Don, Raph, Leo, and a bunch of guys from Casey's hockey team were helping Casey make his move.

And since usually the monthly grocery shopping trip was a three or four person job (and on one memorable occasion, six—though that was less about the groceries and more about the company) it almost would have made more sense to just wait and go Sunday. That way Mikey could help with the moving stuff, and his brothers could help with the grocery stuff.

But Mikey kinda figured they wanted him occupied and out of the way—they didn't want him around if Mr. Jones happened to show up. Which, honestly, was fine by Mikey. He didn't want to be around in that case anyway. He wouldn't say as much, though; Casey still kinda felt weird about all this stuff, and even Mikey knew there was a right and a wrong time to crack a joke.

So what he  _did_  say was, "I told you, I got this. Leatherhead's gonna help, remember?"

"That's right," Leo said, looking placated. "And he'll be here soon?"

"Yeah, should be."

And it was about half an hour later—ten minutes earlier than he said he'd be, the dude was nothing if not punctual—Leatherhead showed up for their epic grocery shopping adventure. Leo and Raph had both met LH before, and shook his hand and punched him in the arm respectively—friendly greetings, as far as Leo and Raph went. Casey and Donnie  _hadn't_ met LH before; and while Casey boggled at him, and decided within two seconds of their meeting that LH was  _"freakin' rad,"_ and then spent the next like five entire minutes trying to convince LH to arm-wrestle him (while Raph laughed his butt off and LH just looked between Leo and Mikey helplessly—kind of like "are you serious? Is  _he_ serious?") Donnie came out of his and Leo's shared room, stopped in the mouth of the hallway, and just sort of… stared.

"Hey, D," Mikey said, lifting a hand to wave his brother over. "Come meet Leatherhead!"

Donnie didn't move. Mikey's smile faded a little, and Leo said, "Donnie, come say hi," the way he did when it was an order, not an option.

And Donnie blinked once, like he was coming out of some deep thought. He glanced over at Leo, then at Mikey, and smiled; crossing the room to introduce himself and shake LH's hand.

But Mikey knew every single one of Donnie's smiles, and that polite curve to his brother's mouth was the one he saved almost exclusively for bad teachers and bullies and clueless adults. It meant he was only being nice because he had to—and for the life of him, Mikey had no idea why Donnie would smile at Leatherhead that way.


	21. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 2

By the time they got to the supermarket, Mikey was sulking and Leatherhead was fighting a smile. Whose side was he on, anyway?

"I don't think it's very funny," Mikey said, in his very best impersonation of April at her most irritated. He even folded his arms and frowned extra deeply at the automatic doors, the way she had a habit of doing when one of her boys (usually Casey) did something particularly stupid. "And  _you_  shouldn't either!"

"You pick the most ridiculous causes to fight for," Leatherhead said, leading the way inside. Mikey fell into step beside him, trying really hard not to pout at the floor while he walked—it wasn't  _ridiculous_. When they stopped to tug a grocery cart out of its nest in the cart corral, Leatherhead added, "Donatello doesn't have to get along with me. It's okay if he doesn't. Your other brothers do, and two out of three isn't bad."

And he really did look unbothered by the idea, like he was totally used to this kind of thing, and that just… wasn't cool. Because Leatherhead  _was_ cool—he was such a cool guy, he shouldn't be used to people not liking him. Especially people like Donatello, who'd never even  _met_ him!

_Ughhh, Donnie, what is going on in your dumb genius head?_

"It's  _not_ okay," Mikey stressed as they headed towards the dry goods. "It's, like…  _severely_  not. And it makes Donnie the biggest hypocrite ever." He turned to walk backwards beside the cart, so he could look Leatherhead in the face and gesture wildly with his hands while he talked—both  _crucial_  factors in the art of storytelling. "Okay, so  _way_ back in the day, before sensei found us, Raph had this friend, right? His name was Spike, and Leo didn't like when Raph hung out with him, 'cause Spike was pretty scrappy."

They stopped in the baking aisle briefly, and moved on when they had the few things they needed; including, triumphantly, vanilla. Mikey crossed stuff off the list as they went, and had to be steered away from running into people, and stray carts, and also those random support poles in the middle of the aisles a couple times. Good thing Leatherhead had long arms, or Mikey would probably have a concussion by the end of the day. LH looked interested in what he was saying at the very least, which wasn't surprising A) because Mikey was awesome at telling stories and B) because he always looked interested when Mikey was saying stuff. Heck, the guy was willing to spend the better part of his Saturday  _grocery shopping_ with him _._ Grocery shopping! For  _other people's_  groceries! And Mikey didn't even have to twist his arm or bribe him or beg, all he had to do was ask.

It kinda warmed Mikey up inside, honestly. He was lucky in a lot of ways, but he was  _especially_  lucky in friends. And he found a  _good_ one in LH, and if Donnie thought it was okay to be a huge butt to him, then Donnie wasn't as smart as he claimed to be.

"Spike was scrappy?" Leatherhead prompted when they had to wait on a crowd in frozen goods. Mikey blinked, and remembered his spot in the story with a rush.

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, Spike was. And he was older than me, but really small, and I remember feeling sorry for him, 'cause he didn't have any brothers to look out for him like I did. But when Raph came home from pallin' around with him, he always looked kinda beat up. It really ticked Leo off, and he told Raph like a million times that Spike was a bad influence, and to stay away from him. You can probably guess how well Raph took  _that._ But Donnie was totally on Raph's side—he argued with Leo  _forever_ about it, too. Said Leo didn't know anything about Spike, and it wasn't fair to say Raph couldn't be friends with him just 'cause Leo didn't like him. Which is like... the opposite of how D's acting now." Mikey gave Leatherhead a knowing look. "So basically, the moral of the story is I'm right and he's wrong."

Leatherhead chuckled at that, and stepped out of the way of a harried mother and her gaggle of small children. "That was a long time ago," he said patiently, like it made any difference. Mikey blinked at him.

"So? You're supposed to get  _smarter_ as you get older, not weirdly exclusive about who your brothers can be friends with."

"I think Donatello is just feeling a little… protective," Leatherhead explained. "I mean, I didn't exactly meet you under the best conditions. He probably just doesn't want you involved with me because he doesn't want you to get hurt again."

"That… what? But you weren't—you didn't—" Mikey was practically speechless with how much that didn't make sense. Part of him was hoping it was just a really lame attempt at a joke, and that his friend was about follow it up with an even lamer punchline, but when that didn't happen he blurted, "You  _saved_ me. You literally only got involved to help me. You had nothing to do with those guys  _at_   _all."_

"I know that, and  _you_ know that—and I'm sure Donatello knows it, too. But you got hurt, buddy. Badly hurt, in a way I'm guessing Donatello isn't exactly accustomed to seeing on you. His guard is still up, that's all."

Puffing out his cheeks, Mikey did his best—again—not to pout. Judging from LH's snort, he wasn't hugely successful.

"O- _kaaay,_  I guess I won't beat him up, then. But I'm definitely gonna have to talk to him."

And he was. Donnie had handled that whole Purple Dragons situation way worse than Leo and Raph  _combined—_ and who would have seen  _that_  coming? He laid Bradford out in the middle of the hall at school, and he wasn't even the slightest bit apologetic about it, and now he was treating LH like the guy was just some seedy stranger. Not cool. Even if Don's intentions were good.

 _And,_ Mikey thought, with a sort of grudging, but unfailing brotherly loyalty,  _D's intentions are_ always  _good._

"While we're on the subject," Leatherhead said suddenly, as he guided the cart down the aisle, "how are things?"

Mikey rolled his eyes, unable to help smiling at him. What a worry-wart.

"I haven't heard from Mr. Creepy again, if that's what you mean," he replied, and LH's tense shoulders relaxed somewhat. Tugging open one of the freezer doors and grabbing a handful of frozen pizzas, Mikey dumped them into the cart unceremoniously and then turned to lead the way on toward the ice cream. Leo loved mint chocolate chip, even though he never asked for it to go on the list, and there was a half-gallon of Edy's with his big bro's name written  _all_ over it. "I'm actually starting to think I sort of overreacted? I mean, I  _was_ sick when I met him. Maybe it all just seemed super sinister in my head, you know? He didn't actually  _threaten_  me, or say anything that made me wanna call the cops—"

"He knew Raphael's name," Leatherhead reminded him, and Mikey nodded slowly.

"Yeah… but maybe he knew Raph from work or something. I dunno, man, I don't wanna be that super annoying character in horror movies that tries to reason all their totally obviously serial-killery problems away, but it's been like three weeks. And if I worry about it anymore I'm probably gonna develop actual physical health problems, like… an ulcer, or eczema."

Leatherhead was quiet for a little bit, pushing the cart silently along, and Mikey managed to secure about five more things off the list before he spoke up again.

"I don't know a lot about him," he said, "like I told you before. Just his reputation. He's  _bad news,_ Michelangelo. If you don't think you should worry about it anymore, then I'll trust you on that—but  _you_ need to trust that intuition of yours. From what I've seen so far, it's usually right."

Mikey glanced back at him from where he'd run a few shelves ahead to grab a few loaves of bread (honey wheat for the  _win)_ , and grinned.

"Well," he said, cheerfully, "I sure was right about you."

Leatherhead blinked, and a moment later he glanced to one side; surprised and gratified and  _beaming,_ ear to ear. Mentally, Mikey gave himself the highest of all the fives in the entire _universe,_ and scratched the last item off his grocery list while he was at it.

Even with their sort of lackadaisical shopping, they managed to keep under budget, and the hundred or so leftover would go back to Leo when he got home. It'd come in handy later on, if something random came up that they needed (or if his brothers decided they just  _had to have_ a food that Mikey didn't have ingredients to make). After checking out, they wheeled their full cart of bagged groceries back to LH's weathered old hatchback, packed everything in the back, pushed the cart in the general direction of the corral (it almost made it, too—oh, well) and headed home. LH was gonna help him unpack everything and stay for a late lunch as a thanks for helping out, and  _then_ Mikey was going to whine until LH agreed to stay and watch a movie with him, too. Best plan ever.

"So, what ended up happening with Spike?" Leatherhead asked at some point on the drive back home. Mikey, drumming his fingers along to the song on the radio, paused and glanced over at him.

"Actually, I don't really know. He just disappeared one day. Raph was pretty upset about it. We never heard from Spike again after that."


	22. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 3

Casey and April came back with his brothers after the successful move, and the whole clan was tuckered out and happy and had like half a dozen stories to tell, and as badly as Mikey wanted to talk to Donatello about the LH situation, he didn't really wanna ruin that comfortable atmosphere with a talk that had the potential to become a pretty epic fight. So he waited until after dinner to press the issue, when he and D were doing dishes, and for all his  _patience_  and  _maturity,_ he got nothing but a tilt of the head and an uncomprehending expression from Donatello in return.

"What are you talking about? I don't have a problem with Leatherhead."

Mikey just stared at him, and Donnie's confusion melted into a rueful smile.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I seemed a little short with him. I guess this whole thing with Casey had me more worried than I thought."

Which…made sense. Huh. D  _did_ tend to sort of zone out when he was stressed, the way he did after Mikey got himself beat up by those Dragons a couple weeks back. Mikey resumed his scrubbing of the saucepan, trying not to frown at himself. Why didn't  _he_  think of that? It's not like he had a habit of automatically assuming the worst of his brothers—just the opposite, actually. And it made way more sense that Donnie was worried about Casey than it did that Donnie had just decided out of nowhere to be rude to Mikey's buddy.

 _Maaan._ Now he felt bad.

"Sorry, D," he said, a little meekly. "I shoulda known that."

"It's okay. We've all had a lot on our plates recently," Donnie replied, cool as a cucumber. He took the clean pan when Mikey handed it over and rubbed his dishtowel through the inside slowly. "You know," he continued abruptly, "if there's ever anything you want to talk about, you can always come to me."

"Um," was Mikey's eloquent rejoinder. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, and probably looked like it, too, from the way Donnie's face wrinkled a little in something that could have been disappointment. Stumbling over himself, Mikey added hastily, "I know that. Of course I know, D. Why, uh—why're you asking?"

"Casey's situation had me thinking, that's all. That secret of his really came back to bite him." Donnie smiled crookedly. "If he'd come to us with the truth sooner, things may not have gotten so bad."

Mikey returned the smile with a grin that felt wooden, returning to the task at hand with forced enthusiasm. Well, gee, Donnie, that wasn't  _totally_   _ominous_ or anything _._

But… Mikey  _wasn't_ keeping a secret. It wasn't a secret if there was nothing to tell! And  _nothing_  had come of that scene on the soccer field with Mr. Boogeyman—no mysterious phone calls, no creepy voicemails, no shadowy figures following him home. Mikey had already decided to stop worrying about it; LH said to trust his instinct.

So there was no reason for him to shrink guiltily every time Donnie glanced over at him, right?

Right.

* * *

"You know, Mikey," Dask called over wryly, "if your soccer career never takes off, there's always the Olympics."

Mikey made a face at him from upside down. Ever since that flip he did in the last game of the season, he'd been working on his acrobatics at every practice, during the breaks between drills. It was  _amazing_  how much he remembered, even after having dropped all that stuff for nearly three years! His body just sort of fellback to it, like a well-oiled machine, bowing and arching in exactly the right way. Mikey barely even had to think about it.

But his joints kind of started to ache after a bit, and he put that down to being rusty. That's why he did as much practicing as he could during their free time on the field.

He did a series of handsprings, followed up in quick succession by a few one handed-cartwheels, and laughed when Napoleon and Timothy cheered and clapped.

Sensei started teaching them not long after he took them in; Mikey had been, what… five years old? Six? Pretty little. And six years of training didn't just go away. He didn't know if it was conditioning or muscle-memory or  _what,_ but he knew some of it was innate talent—sensei had told him so _._

It was just so  _easy._ Nothing had  _ever_  come to him as easily as this.

Tucking his head and shoulders in and rolling forward, Mikey flopped onto his back in the grass. Maybe he'd ask Leo if they could start practicing their katas again. Leo only had to work one weekend a month with his new job, so he had way more free time than he used to. And out of all of them, Leo used to love training the most. He'd probably  _totally_  go for it!

But… Leo also missed their dad the most. That's pretty much why they'd stopped training in the first place. Even after the worst of the hurt went away, after they stopped missing him so badly it ached in their bones, it just didn't feel right to do any of it without him—without their practice weapons and their silly masks and the family dojo. Maybe it  _still_ wasn't right, to start up again now, with all of that gone.

Mikey frowned up at the sky. He'd have to think about it.

"Hey, Mike?"

He propped himself up on his elbows as Timothy crawled over. "Whaddup, man? Here for a lesson from  _Escuela de Mikey?"_

"No, there's—really? You'll really teach me those flips and stuff?"

Mikey grinned, sitting upright. "Totally. I'll have my people call your people. What were you  _gonna_ say, dude?"

"Oh. Um, there's someone over there trying to get your attention," he said, pointing across the field. Mikey followed his finger, where, sure enough, there  _was_  someone lingering by the bleachers. Varsity jacket, brown hair, pretty ridiculously tall… Heh, from here it almost looked like… Like…

_Waitaminute._

"Is that Chris Bradford?" Tim continued, oblivious to Mikey's head  _literally exploding_. "Doesn't he play fullback on the football team? Wow, Goldie, you know  _everybody."_

"It's not all it's cracked up to be, trust me," Mikey replied, climbing to his feet. He probably looked every bit as surprised as he felt, and he was half-hoping that the  _"what the actual heck?"_ in his expression would telegraph neatly, despite the distance and the glare of the sun, and that subsequently his visitor would take the hint and leave. But apparently not, because all Bradford did was sort of wave him over. Mikey repressed a groan. This was not what he needed.

A quick look over his shoulder proved the rest of the team was still grouped loosely around the canteen. Hob went to grab something from Coach's office, so  _he_ was still gone. Okay. Mikey had a few minutes to handle this. "I'll be right back, Timmy. If Hob gets back before me, you and Napoleon cover for me, okay? He gets all cranky when practice gets delayed."

With Tim's enthusiastic vow to watch his back following him over, Mikey crossed the field at a trot. Truth be told, he didn't really feel strongly about Bradford one way or another. It was pretty low that he tried to trick Mikey into a trap, but  _that_ whole thing would never have happened if Raph hadn't threatened him in the first place. And yeah, it sucked that he bailed on that kerscuffle with the Purple Dragons, but… it's not like they were  _friends._ Not a lot of people would wanna get beat up for a relative stranger. Mikey understood that.

And… he felt pretty bad about Donnie hitting him. All things considered, Mikey figured they were even.

So it was pretty neutral grounds Mikey was meeting Bradford on when he closed those last few feet. He had more important things to worry about than holding a grudge that didn't make sense.

"What's up Brad?" he said, shrugging his hands into the pockets of his track pants. Bradford sort of flinched, and went from looking somewhat guarded, to somewhat surprised. He was probably expecting something  _way_  worse than a hello. Mikey sorta felt for the guy, and followed his greeting up with a smile.

"Uhh… Hey," Bradford said, looking about a hundred miles out of his comfort zone and so awkward it was at least a  _little_  funny. "Can we talk?"

Seriously?

Mikey only  _barely_ managed not to laugh. As it was, he bit back the larger half of a grin and said, "Dude, check your vocab. Last time you asked me that, things didn't go so well."

Bradford just  _looked_ at him. One of those "are you serious?" looks Mikey was pretty familiar with. But after a long moment, he smiled back. It was a limping, overly-cautious thing,  _nothing_ like the razzle-dazzle he could hit people with on the football field, but it looked pretty honest. Heck, Mikey would take it.

"I need to talk to you," Bradford tried again. "Meet me at lunch tomorrow, in the library?" Then he spread his hands, tacking on quickly, "No tricks this time. There'll be tons of witnesses there. We can even sit in full view of the librarian if you want."

Mikey grinned outright this time. If you couldn't joke about deception and almost-betrayal, what  _could_ you? "I'm pretty sure I could pencil you in. What do you wanna talk about?"

The tentative humor faded from Bradford's face, and the corners of his mouth turned down. "Oh. Um—"

" _GOLDILOCKS!"_

Oh, jeez. He'd know those dulcet tones anywhere. "Ah. Captain's back. Gotta go."

"Goldilocks?" Bradford said incredulously, and Mikey jabbed a finger at him.

"Not a  _word."_

Mikey returned to find everyone on their feet, staring at him. Tim and Napoleon were both standing behind Hob, looking pathetic and disheartened, obviously having failed in their attempts to distract Hob from the striker missing from their midst. Mikey winked at them behind the back of his hand. No harm, no foul. Hob, of course, saw the whole exchange, and his expression only got darker.

"Aw, c'mon, Hob, I was only gone for like—"

"What the hell were you doing talking to Bradford?" Hob interrupted with a bark, eyes narrowed fiercely. Oookay, he was  _severely mad._ And the rest of the team was kind of standing around the both of them, but they were all looking at Mikey, and they all had the same sort of stern, concerned looks on their faces. What gives? "He's the reason your face was jacked up for a week. And you're over there  _talking_ to him? Jesus, kid."

"No he's  _not_. I told you, he didn't do it, those Dragons did. He just happened to be there." And it had to be like the fortieth time Mikey had said as much, too. Did  _nobody_  listen to him? Ever? _"_ Seriously, why is  _everybody—_ "

"Mikester," Woody said slowly, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. "His brother practically  _runs_ the Purple Dragons. You really think all that was a coincidence?"


	23. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 4

Raph was working on a cute little Nissan when Mikey found him, a dirty rag draped over the popped hood within easy grabbing reach, and the top half of heavy blue coveralls tied around his waist by the sleeves. It was hot in the garage, despite the early November chill outside, and Raph's face was streaked with sweat and grease; but he looked comfortable and right in his element, smiling in a crooked, automatic way as he caught sight of Mikey trotting over.

"Well, look who it is," Raph said by way of greeting, standing back from the engine he was leaning over and bracing his elbows on the lip of the radiator support. "What are you doin' here?"

"What, I can't come visit my favorite mechanic at work?" Mikey replied, and hugged the paper bag he was holding against his chest with one arm to dig through its contents with the opposite hand. "I brought you muffins. There's a cinnamon-apple one in here somewhere."

Raph's smile edged into a grin. "Sweets, too, huh? Now I know you want somethin'."

Mikey made a face. "I'm not that obvious, am I?"

"Always. Not sayin' it's a bad thing. Didn't you have practice after school?"

"Got out early," Mikey muttered, dropping the bag of muffins on the tool table at Raph's station.

By that, of course, he meant he got  _annoyed,_ and maybe ranted at his team a little bit for omitting case-sensitive information that would have been helpful to know whole weeks ago, like, _before_ Mikey willingly got into Bradford's car—"by the bye, Mikester, the dude's probably a little bit involved with a  _notorious street gang_ , steer clear of him," how hard was that? The words "committee of secret keepers" may have been used, by him, at his teammates' guilty faces. And when Hob didn't even have the decency to let Mikey storm off in an indignant huff, he just  _might_ have glared the junior into giving him a ride to the bakery a few blocks away from the garage. Which Hob agreed to a lot easier than Mikey had anticipated.

But Raph wouldn't interested in hearing all  _that_. Mikey managed to keep from sounding sulky as he added, "But you're right, I wanted to ask you something."

"Well, you caught me at a good time—this little girl just threw a rod," Raph said, turning back to the car. "Caught it early, so it's an easy fix. I'll work, and you talk."

Mikey took a seat on the wheeled stool, shrugging his duffel bag off his shoulder onto the floor and watching his brother's steady hands. He had learned a long time ago that the best time and place to ask Raph a favor was during one of his shifts at the garage, when he was at his most relaxed. And while it wasn't exactly a  _favor_ Mikey was asking, Raph was still  _really not_ going to like the question.

Plucking at the sleeve of his windbreaker, Mikey stalled for a moment longer before he came out with, "You used to play with Chris Bradford on the football team, right?"

It was like flipping a switch. Every line in Raph's body went tense, his brother turning to pin him with a stare the way some people pinned butterflies to corkboard. Oh, man.

"Why are you askin' about Bradford? Has he been bothering you again?"

"No! I'm just curious," Mikey said quickly, holding up both hands. "I've had zero problems with him since the Dragon thing, I swear."

Talking to Bradford during practice didn't count as a  _problem_ , right?

Raph studied him through narrowed eyes. It was a  _little_  disconcerting, because out of all his brothers, Raph was the one who saw straight through him. But after a moment Raph snorted and shook his head, returning his attention to the motor under his hands.

"If you say so." He looked about a hundred percent less content than he had when Mikey first showed up, and it made Mikey feel sort of crummy about showing up in the first place. "Yeah, we played together freshman year. Didn't ever talk to him much, though. And he almost got kicked off the team halfway through the season," Raph added as an afterthought, and Mikey tilted his head.

"How come?"

Raph glanced at him over his shoulder. "Gang affiliation can get you in big trouble at school. Guess at the time there was a rumor goin' around that he had something to do with the Dragons—the piece of trash  _proved_ it with what he did to you." Mikey heroically refrained from making the correction, because it was beginning to feel like a waste of breath. "Anyway, it went all the way up to the school board. Bradford had to come up with a ton of character references to keep his spot on the team." With a huff of dry laughter, he continued, "Damage was done, though. Can't expect to put a lid on a can of worms like that once it's open."

Raph sounded sort of meanly pleased by the whole thing, but Mikey's heart sort of started bleeding sympathy. It was Bradford's  _brother_  working with the Purple Dragons. Bradford couldn't help what his brother did or didn't do. That wasn't fair. And he almost got kicked off his team for it, too; Mikey couldn't imagine how torn up he'd feel if he had to quit soccer 'cause of something one of  _his_ brothers did.

And the fact remained that Bradford  _wasn't the one who hurt him._ There's no way Bradford had set him up in that alley—he hadn't even wanted to park the car till Mikey whined at him, and he had been completely lost in Chinatown; besides, organizing the whole thing around the  _off-chance_ Mikey would  _happen_  to hear a cat meowing over the noise of afternoon traffic _and_ be dumb enough to confront three Purple Dragon thugs about it isn't exactly sound planning. And if it  _was_ a set-up, why would Bradford have bailed on the whole thing right at the end? The whole concept literally didn't make sense.

Mikey's mouth firmed into a line. His mind was made up. He was gonna give Bradford a chance to tell his side of the story, since it seemed like no one else was willing to.

He hopped down from his seat and stooped to scoop his duffel bag up by the straps, slinging it back over his shoulder. Then he had to wave a hand to reclaim Raph's attention from whatever complicated enginey thing he was working on. "I'm gonna head home, bro. Don't forget your muffins."

"Be careful. You got your metro card? And your phone?"

 _And he calls_ Leo _a mother hen._  "Sure do," Mikey said, patting the appropriate pocket on his duffel bag. "Oh, and before I forget," he added as it occurred to him, "I'm not gonna be at lunch tomorrow. I got a pass for the library instead."

He wasn't expecting Raph to straighten up and look at him so seriously. His brother grabbed the rag from where it hung off the hood and faced Mikey fully, leaning his weight against the Nissan's front fender and wiping his hands. "You shouldn't skip lunch," he said after what felt like an age. Mikey just blinked at him.  _Say what?_  The beginnings of something like irritation bled into Raph's green eyes at the probably dumb look on Mikey's face, and the older of the two added tersely, "I'm tired of you skippin' out on meals, Mikey."

"Woah, down Raphie," Mikey said, surprised by his tone. "I'm not—dude, I'm not skipping meals, what are you talking about?"

"You don't even know you're doin' it,  _that's_  what gets to me. But you haven't been sleepin' well, either, and I  _know_ you notice that," Raph replied, balling the rag up in one hand. It wasn't irritation at all. He looked  _frustrated,_ in a simmering, slow-burning way that meant it had been there awhile. "And don't try an' tell me you have been. We share a room. When I happen to wake up at three a.m. and see your damn phone lightin' up the wall, it clues me in. As if just lookin' at you wasn't enough of a clue by itself."

It wasn't a fight Mikey was expecting to have—not right then and there, not at all, really. He had no clue what to say, stunned and staring at his brother with round eyes.

He wasn't  _awesome,_ but he was  _okay_. He'd been sleeping better ever since he and LH decided Mikey's Boogeyman wasn't something to worry about anymore. And—okay, admittedly, fiveish hours a night wasn't the solid nine he used to get, but it was a whole heck of a lot better than three or four. His sleeping pattern was just a little screwed up. And he wasn't  _not eating._ He hadn't had much of an appetite lately, but he always got something to eat when he was hungry—he and Raph snacked  _together,_ all the time. He couldn't make sense of Raph suddenly taking issue with all of that harmless stuff, especially after leaving it alone for this long.

"That's not—" he started uncertainly, and hesitated. "Raph, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"You can't tell me that, not when I know you so well." Raph was looking straight through him, sharp and fierce and—oh, jeez, _worried._ Worried all the way down to his bones. That was the literal opposite of what Mikey wanted, that was the whole reason he'd been trying to keep everything under wraps in the  _first_ place. "Leo told me not to push you on it, but—come on, Mikey." Raph wiped his brow with the relatively clean side of his forearm, breaking eye contact for the first time since he initiated it. "You used to tell me everything. What happened?"

His expression was so creased with concern that Mikey wanted to hug him until all those lines in his face went away. Eager to make it all better as fast as he could, Mikey answered immediately, totally unthinking.

"Nothing happened, Raphie. Everything's fine."

Only it was actually exactly the _wrong_ thing to say.

"Dammit, Mikey, don't  _lie_  to me!" Raph all but shouted at him, surging a step forward that had Mikey shrinking one back. "If you don't want to tell me what's wrong with you, fine, but _don't lie to me."_

"I'm not," Mikey insisted, and his voice choked a little bit, for whatever stupid reason. Clearing his throat, desperate to fix this and make everything right, he said, "Raph, I didn't. I'm not lying."

"Well you're sure as hell not being honest," Raph snapped back acidly, turning away to pitch the rag at the tool table and glower at something besides his baby brother. When he looked back up a moment later, all the harsh lines in his face relented and the sharp green of his eyes went leaf-like and soft, like someone shook the Raphael Etch-a-Sketch back to its default setting, and that's about the exact second Mikey realized there were tears on his face. "Shit. Mikey— _shit,_ Mikey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Mikey rubbed his face with his sleeve, blinking wetly, and Raph hovered just on the verge of touching him, hands suspended a few inches away from his shoulders, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed.

"Yo, Raphael," a mechanic called from over by the hydraulic lift, startling Mikey so thoroughly he flinched. The speaker had downy white hair pulled up into a thick ponytail, and a huge pair of purple, retro winged eye-glasses taking up half her face. She would have looked out of place in the dingy garage if it wasn't for the blue coveralls hugging her hips in much the same way Raph's were his, and the stained work gloves on her hands. "Can I get your help over here?"

Mikey, at least, glanced over at her, but Raph didn't break eye contact with Mikey even for a second, calling back shortly, "No."

The girl by the lift wasn't impressed, folding her arms. "Okay, let me rephrase: get your ass over here."

"Al, I swear to god, you can  _wait."_

"No, it's okay," Mikey said quickly, taking a step back out of Raph's reach. "Sorry. I'll, uh—I should let you get back to work. I'll see you at home."

Raph called after him once as he hurried to the exit, but Mikey pretended not to hear him. Even though it sort of made him feel like the world's biggest coward.

He had about a hundred problems to fix, and no clue where to start.


	24. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 5

Mikey was scrolling through the contacts list on his phone, trying to make a decision. He was curled into a sad ball in the metal fort at the top of the park jungle gym, his free arm drawn out of its sleeve and into the warm, fuzzy inside of his windbreaker. His eyes were all puffy and his nose was runny and he felt a hundred different kinds of  _terrible,_ and he just wanted to _talk_  to someone.  _Anyone_ , he didn't care.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true—he  _did_  care, he cared a lot. He wanted to talk to the exact person who would give him all the answers he needed to fix everything. 'Cause he'd messed up _so majorly,_ this time, and he didn't know how to fix it, or where to start.

Raph had looked so hurt, and that— _Mikey_ did that, Mikey hurt him like that, and the  _whole time_ Mikey thought he was  _helping_. He thought he was looking out for his brothers by not telling them about the Boogeyman, he didn't want them involved with that creep at all. And Mikey just thought they wouldn't worry as much if they didn't know what there was to worry about. Ignorance was bliss, right?

But he was  _wrong,_ and everything he did made everything else a hundred times worse.

He was sort of freaking out a little bit, and he wanted help—but at the same time, selfishly, he didn't want to unload his tale of stupid and failure, he didn't want to talk about how badly he'd messed up this time. He wanted company and comfort without judgement; he wanted to feel better without feeling worse first. Then maybe he'd be brave enough to confront the problem head-on, and make the right decision for a change.

Making up his mind, Mikey tapped one of the several starred names in his phone, and held the phone to his ear as the call went through. He wasn't brave enough to call his brothers, he didn't want to bother April and Casey, and that was pretty much his entire family—

" _Hello, Michelangelo."_

—except for one.

And just like that, Mikey's face crumpled with some complicated cocktail of honest relief and gratitude and fresh tears; because Leatherhead's voice was fond and familiar and exactly everything he needed to hear, all at once. It was immensely comforting, and he uncurled a little from his unhappy impression of a roly-poly. Clearing his throat, Mikey put on a smile.

"Hi, buddy. You busy?"

There was the sound of papers rustling from the other end of the line, and LH said,  _"Not really. What's up? I haven't heard from you all day."_

"Oh, um. Yeah. I—"  _I messed up literally everything in my life and it keeps getting worse, and I was just calling to see if you could help me with that. BZZZT, wrong answer._ Racking his brain, Mikey came up with a suitable alternative. "I, uh—actually, I read something in class today about PTSD that I thought we could try. If you want."

And he had, actually—he'd dog-eared the page in his Psych textbook and everything, with the idea that he'd do some Google research after dinner, and tell LH about it when he had a better understanding. But hey, so much for that plan.

" _Oh."_ Something in that single word told Mikey that Leatherhead could already tell something was off. There was a heavy, lingering moment of quiet hesitation, then LH added,  _"Okay, then, let's hear it."_

Letting go of the breath he'd been holding, Mikey grabbed the out his friend was offering and sprinted with it. "Okay! So, basically, the article was about hyperarousal, and how PTSD pumps your nervous system into like, constant overdrive. It like flips the adrenaline switch in your brain and makes you think you're in danger, you know? But the same type of things that trigger your flashbacks can be used to make them go away!" He untucked his arm, pushing it back through his sleeve and sitting up straighter. "This is pretty cool, like—it's a meditative thing, super zen. You create a "safe space," and it can be anywhere. Someplace private and secret, where no bad things can go. And then you memorize it—smells and sounds and textures, you know? And then no matter where you are, you just close your eyes and think of those things, and make yourself feel safe again."

Leatherhead made a soft 'huh' sound from the other end of the line. _"I haven't read anything like that before. It sounds like it's worth a try."_

"Totally!" Mikey insisted, and felt his smile tug a little wider at the edges. Stuff like this—he was good at this. "And I'll help you!"

" _I knew you'd say so. But there isn't really a place like that for me,"_ Leatherhead admitted.  _"I spend a lot of time at my apartment, but I'm not really attached."_ Before Mikey had more than a second to start getting disappointed, LH added,  _"Maybe it doesn't have to be a place, though. Maybe it can be a feeling, or a memory."_

"Maybe," Mikey agreed, running his fingers across the rivets in the metal floor thoughtfully. It made sense—if a feeling or a memory could trigger a flashback, then the same things should be enough to make a flashback go away. It was ninety percent mental—LH's subconscious was just trying to protect him from the stuff that hurt him before. "We'll think of something."

" _In the meantime,"_ his friend said, soft and totally disarming,  _"do you want to tell me what's bothering you?"_

"What? No," Mikey replied a little too fast. And way too defensive. He took a minute to smack his face into his palm. "I mean—nothing's bothering me. I just wanted to talk to you. Why, does it sound like something's bothering me?"

" _Yes."_

"Well, I'm fine. Better than fine, I'm  _great._ " All of a sudden, the fort felt too confining—Mikey unfolded his legs and turned to crawl toward the trapdoor and the ladder, his face pinched into a scowl. "Wanna know how great I am?"

" _Michelangelo—"_

"I'm  _so great,_ I made my whole family worry for  _weeks_ about me. I'm keeping a secret that doesn't make sense, and I yelled at all my friends and hurt my big brother's feelings today, and now I'm yelling at you, 'cause I'm just  _amazAAGHH!"_

Which was the sound of him slipping off the ladder's wet rungs and falling a handful of feet to the newly muddy ground. He laid there for a moment, spread eagle, blinking through the light, misty rain and ignoring the family of five that was staring at him from the covered pavilion. LH's voice was tinny and distant, springing from the phone in a worried tumble—and his phone was still in his hand, at least he hadn't dropped it in a puddle or whatever, that would have just made his day. Mikey put it back to his ear.

"— _okay? Mikey? Michelangelo—"_

"I fell off the jungle gym," he said without preamble, and listened as LH stopped dead, and then sighed with the same relieved exasperation Mikey could inspire in Leo. "Sorry."

" _It's okay,"_ except it wasn't, though, none of it was,  _"just be careful."_

"Dude," he whispered, rubbing his wet face with a sleeved hand. He hadn't gotten up yet. He'd definitely need to do that before he ruined his tracksuit forever. "I dunno what to do."

" _Well in most cases, the best way to tackle a problem is to start from the beginning,"_ Leatherhead said, patient and understanding and probably Mikey's best friend in the whole world. _"So—start from the beginning. Go home."_

Yeah. That sounded about right. It was time to face the music; Mikey had put it off for long enough.

* * *

The park was only a few blocks from home, and the rain cleared up before he'd made it even halfway. The lobby was cool and dim—the landlord would probably never fix the burnt out overhead light or the busted elevator, but the whole thing was sort of comforting in its own way.

What was  _not_ comforting was the shouting match he could hear all the way from  _level four_ in the stairwell. He would recognize Don and Raph's voices anywhere, as muffled and faraway as they were, and he froze mid-step. Oh, _man._ There was no way they  _weren't_  yelling about him—he was  _so_ in trouble.

The rest of the way to his apartment was plodded meekly, and he waved at the wide-eyed couple peeking out the door of 501 on his way past. It was okay—he deserved to be in trouble, honestly, after the mess he'd made. And once they yelled at him and got it out of their systems, they'd probably feel loads better. And then Mikey could start to feel better. And then he'd tell them about the stupid creepy guy, and they'd yell at him some more for keeping such a stupid secret, and slowly but surely this whole thing would  _go away._

So he tried the handle (unlocked), and pushed open the door, and dropped his duffel bag by the shoe rack, and—

" _I can't believe you!"_

He spun around, wide-eyed. Already? He hadn't even made it all the way inside yet!

But no, Mikey was alone in the kitchen. He blinked around the empty room; nudged the front door closed the rest of the way, and peeled off his muddy shoes. If they weren't in the front of the apartment, they were in one of the bedrooms for sure. Don and Leo's door was ajar; Mikey took a deep breath and headed there.

"I  _know_ okay? I just— _god,_  Don, he looked so bad—"

That was Raph, and Mikey's heart pinched at the sound of his voice. He was so upset, and it was entirely Mikey's fault. The carpet was soft underfoot, lending Mikey a large amount of unnecessary stealth on his way down the hall. He picked up his pace when something slammed against something else with a sharp crack, heart thudding behind his breastbone so hard he was worried one or the other might break.

"So, what, you decide to throw weeks' worth of worry in his face all at once? Leo  _told you—_ "

"I'm sayin'  _I know,_ Donnie!"

Mikey shoved open the door with both hands, and instantly he was the target of two bright stares. Don and Raph were still standing inches apart—yikes, they'd totally been in each other's faces—but a moment later, they were turning on him in tandem.

"Where the hell have  _you_ been?" Raph snapped, and even though they'd been fighting two seconds ago, Don was right by his side.

"I expected you home  _hours_ ago, Michelangelo! I almost called Leo!"

On top of everything else, that was not what Mikey needed. He turned wide eyes on Donnie, hands curling into the front of his shirt. "You  _didn't,_ did you?"

It took a minute—Donnie was sweeping him over with those x-ray eyes of his, more red than brown in the warm light of the desk lamp behind him, and a lot of the harsh lines in his face eased away slowly as he took in Mikey's totally alive and safe and unharmed state. His frown didn't disappear at all, though, and when his gaze moved back up to Mikey's all he said, shortly, was, "No, but I still have half a mind to. You had me worried sick."

Mikey shuffled his feet—he knew he'd be in trouble, he was prepared for this—and risked a look at Raph.

And just looking at him—and the stark worry in his eyes and the unhappy turn of his mouth and the uncertainty that was practically holding hands with irritation, because Raph wasn't sure where they stood with each other anymore—made Mikey blurt, "I'm so sorry!"

At the same time Raph came out with, "I wanna apologize."

And they stared at each other some more. Then Raph's face eased into a familiar not-smile, a soft secret thing reserved specifically for little brothers, and Mikey grinned back. Being at odds with his brothers was just—like, if the gravity got turned off literally everywhere, and everything was displaced and floating away. It felt like that.

Ipso facto, when Raph crossed the room in two strides and hauled Mikey into a bear hug—that was like stumbling upon the American embassy after being lost in remote China for a year. He buried his face in Raphael's shoulder and tried to burrow even closer.

"Sorry I didn't come straight home," he said, sort of muffled. From the sudden stillness of Raph against him, and the absolute silence from Donnie, Mikey could kind of guess they were both listening raptly. "I just needed to think for awhile. And I think… I was being really stupid. But then I fell off the jungle gym and got some sense knocked into me."

"Oh my god," Donnie said faintly, and Mikey chose to ignore him, pushing on while he was still brave enough to.

"I want—I want to talk to you," he said lamely, staring intently at a small tear in Raph's sleeve because there was literally no way he could look either of them in the eye just then. "About some stuff that's been going on. If you want."

They didn't say anything for what felt like a long time, but Raph's grip on him tightened to just the right side of crushing and then he whispered "Yeah," and Don leaned over to press a kiss to the top of Mikey's head like the mud didn't matter—and  _wow,_ but they'd been really, really worried this whole time, like they were about to break with it, how had Mikey not noticed that before? He didn't have the chance to apologize again, because he was abruptly turned around and frog-marched him out of the bedroom and down the hall, and then planted in one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.

"Now?" he said, surprised, as his brothers took seats on either side of him. "I thought you'd wanna wait for Leo to get off work."

"We'll fill him in," Donnie said without a hint of hesitation, and… Okay. Yeah—they didn't want to give Mikey any time to chicken out, and the two hours until Leo got home probably would have been just enough time for him to do exactly that. Fair enough. "It's  _okay_ , Mikey. Talk to us."

So… Mikey did. He told them everything. About the creepy guy and the stuff he said and his twisted smile. And every word seemed to take about ten pounds off his shoulders—like he was shrugging off sandbags one by one, and by the time he was finished he felt so light it was almost dizzying. Or maybe that was the nerves.

Part of him was expecting at least a moment of eye-rolling or  _"That's all? Seriously, Mikey?"_ but instead, when he risked a peek up, his brothers were staring at him with cold, stony faces.

"He  _threatened_ you?" Raph said, sounding somewhere between outraged and incredulous. Mikey shrugged one shoulder—it had been creepy, for sure, but he hadn't really said anything _threatening,_ had he? _—_ and Raphael ran an agitated hand through his short hair, seeming lost for words.

Don never was, though, and he sat forward a moment later, pinning Mikey with that crazy perceptive stare of his. "Mikey, why didn't you tell us? That's something you should have told us _immediately."_

"Well, I—I dunno, it really freaked me out, and I didn't want you guys to like, start any trouble with him," Mikey replied hesitantly. "You know? Like, if we could have zero percent to do with that guy, that would be great."

Which was why he left out the thing about the guy knowing Raphael. No more secrets, he had totally decided that should be a thing starting now, but if Raph knew the dude knew him, he would stop at  _nothing_  to find him. And that was not what Mikey wanted. At all.

"Speakin' of trouble, I owe that asshole a broken neck for scarin' you so bad," Raph said dangerously, proving Mikey right in a heartbeat and pushing a sudden wave of understanding across Donnie's face. "You think you'd recognize that guy if you saw him again?"

"Oh, dude," Mikey replied, picturing those creepy turquoise eyes as clearly as if he saw them every day, "definitely."

"For now," Donnie interjected before Raph could go all The Punisher on them right there at the dinner table, sharing a commiserating look with Mikey that warmed his heart, "let's just be grateful nothing came of it. Thank god Leo went to get you that night, or…"

He trailed off, looking a little pale.  _Woah_. That wasn't something Mikey had ever even thought about. A coil of unease wormed its way through his stomach, and he thought fervently, _Thanks, Leo._

"Speakin' of Leo, I'm gonna talk to him when he gets home about pickin' up dad's training where we left off," Raph said abruptly, and Mikey turned to stare at him in surprise. Raph was looking at him through narrowed eyes, but the hand he rubbed through Mikey's hair was affectionate. "I'm serious. You've had too many close calls lately, little brother. I need to know you can take care of yourself, or I'm never gonna sleep again."

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Donnie said, sounding thoughtful. Mikey felt hope rising like in his chest like a balloon.

"You really think he'll go for it? I was afraid to ask, I thought—since he misses sensei so much—"

"Leo loves us  _way_  more than he misses sensei," Donatello told him plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He'll go for it."

"Or else," Raph added cheerfully, and Mikey grinned at him. One problem totally fixed, ninety-nine more to go.


	25. Mountains, and How to Move Them - Part 6

Leo came home an hour early; didn't even bother changing out of his scrubs, just shrugged off his coat and tossed his bag into a chair by the kitchen table, making a beeline for his brothers where they sat on the couch. Don closed his laptop and slid off the sofa, plopping into the beanbag chair by Raph's feet, and Leo sank into his surrendered seat.

So Donnie called him after all.  _Ugh, Donnie._

"Before you say anything," Mikey led with carefully, like he was walking on eggshells, because Leo's dark eyes were like  _super intense,_  "I'm really, really sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Okay?"

Leo smiled at that, a small, crooked thing. "I'm not mad, you goofball. I'm relieved we finally know what's been bothering you all this time." He lifted one arm and Mikey lit up, and scooted over, and was tucked warmly against Leo's side. "You guys eat yet?" he asked, and Raph nodded.

"Did earlier. Yours is on the stove, should still be hot."

"I wanted to wait till you got home, but Donnie said no," Mikey added, and Donnie gave him a Look; totally unimpressed with his tattling. Yeah, well, that's what he got for calling Leo. But, unfortunately, it also gave him a window of opportunity to share his research with the class.

"We need to get Mikey on a schedule," Donnie said, opening his laptop again and maximizing a few windows. And Mikey felt his shoulders hunch up at the way Donnie was talking about him like he wasn't even there, but he didn't say anything. Didn't exactly have any room to whine about it, really, not after all the junk he'd been putting his brothers through lately. "He's sort of fallen into this practice of missing meals and missing sleep, and his body is conditioned to it now."

"So you just gotta teach yourself to want food at certain times," Raph said, reaching over to give Mikey's shoulder a nudge. He was grinning when Mikey glanced over at him, and just that little thing went about a hundred miles in making Mikey feel better. "That's no big deal. It'll be just like all those times we had to drag Donnie out of his cave to eat dinner."

"Dude, we had to do that like yesterday," Mikey replied with a grin of his own, and the atmosphere got lighter by about two hundred percent when Leo started chuckling, and Don shook his head with good humor.

"I've been doing some reading," he continued, waving a hand to indicate the solid block of complicated looking text on his computer screen, "and we should go to the grocery store for foods rich in magnesium—certain fruits, beans, most nuts, some dairy. Magnesium is basically something like nature's tranquilizer; it reduces stress, and a lot of people seem to take it in supplements for anxiety or insomnia. I think something like that would help- and maybe some of that non-caffeinated hot tea you like, too, Leo."

"But I don't  _have_ anxiety or insomnia," Mikey said for what felt like the twentieth time, heroically ignoring the way Raph rolled his eyes at the ceiling with so much emphasis that it telegraphed through his whole body. "And I've been sleeping better lately! I don't think it's that big of a deal."

"I think it is," Leo said. "And it's not like they're hard changes to make, right? Just for a little bit, till you're back on track?"

Mikey puffed his cheeks out at him, but he nodded. They  _weren't_ hard changes to make, and maybe his brothers were overreacting, but it's not like it was the first time  _that_ ever happened. And if it made them feel better in the long run, then sure, Mikey could make sure to eat dinner before six p.m., and have breakfast and lunch with his brothers, and eat all that weird stuff, and whatever else Donnie put on his "fix Mikey" list.

"Yeah, okay," he said, rubbing his arm. "I just… y'know, feel bad. That you guys have to worry about me so much. And 'cause I cause so many problems for you all the time."

"You do not," Raph said sharply, his voice as close to a growl as humanly possible probably. "Don't be an idiot. Worryin' about you's our job, kid."

"That's dumb," Mikey retorted. "Leo's job is at the hospital, and he had to leave it early today 'cause of me."

"Don't even go there," his oldest brother said, without batting an eye. "We didn't have any patients to see tonight, and Karai has been worried about you, too."

Mikey tilted his head at that. She had, really? He'd only met her twice—though, he still thought she was pretty cool. She knew Japanese even better than Leo, and had a bunch of cool piercings and multicolored hair ("Absolutely not," was all Leo had to say, when he caught Mikey ooh'ing and ahh'ing. "Ever.") and if things were different—if Leo hadn't always had so much to worry about, if he hadn't always had three little brothers to raise and provide for—Mikey figured Leo probably would have let himself have the  _biggest_  crush on her.

But Leo never let himself have much of anything. Which sucked, for lots of reasons, and Mikey could probably name half a dozen at the drop of a hat; it sucked, because Leo and Karai looked pretty great together.

"Don't look so surprised, knucklehead," Raph was saying. " _Everyone's_  been worried about you."

"That doesn't make me feel better, actually," Mikey said plainly, and Leo smiled at him.

"It really isn't a big deal. She actually threatened to give me a ride home on her bike if I didn't get a move on, so—"

"A bike ride home with a beautiful, intelligent woman? The  _horror_ ," Donnie said, one hand pressed to his heart. Leo's face sank into a deadpan, at the same time Raph and Mikey started laughing.

"You should take her up on it next time, fearless!" Raphael chimed in, voice all thick and rich like syrup, the way it only got when he was really indisputably amused. "You'd get over your weird aversion to motorcycles,  _and_ you'd probably get a date. Well… yanno, maybe."

"Ooh, if you got a date I think April would  _cry."_

"Sis has been trying to set you up for years!"

"Uh-oh, wait a minute. Karai  _is_ his boss. Wouldn't employee fraternization be frowned upon?"

"Nah, not if it's Leonardo;  _everyone_  knows he needs to get—"

" _Okay!"_ Leo interrupted, looking equal parts disgruntled and mortified. And his face was all red, aww. " _Thank you_  for your input, I'm glad I have you three masters of romance to turn to for advice when I need it." He rolled his eyes at their clatter of "absolutely"s and "anytime"s, and gave Mikey's hair a ruffle. "And I'm glad you're feeling better," he added, and it made Mikey smile.

"Me too. Gotta remember to thank Leatherhead for that," he said, and Donnie's head popped up from behind his computer screen.

"Leatherhead?"

"Yeah, he's the one who said I should talk to you," Mikey explained, making a mental note to text him before bed. Poor guy was probably worried, since literally everyone in Mikey's life was, apparently. "He thinks you guys are great."

Donnie made a soft little 'huh' sound that Mikey wasn't even going to try to make sense of, while Leo stood up with a mighty stretch and announced to the room at large that he was going to shower. Mikey scooted over to Raph's side of the couch again, and Raph turned the T.V. volume back up— _Empire Strikes Back_  was on, nice. A few minutes went by before he said, "And one more thing?"

Aw, man. Mikey squinted at him sidelong. "What's that?"

"Don't skip lunch tomorrow," his brother said, eyes trained ahead, his mouth tugged firmly down in the corners. Donnie started clacking away on his keyboard, but he was totally obviously listening, and Mikey felt a sudden rush of affection. They were worry-warts, and busy-bodies, but mostly they were big brothers, and all they were trying to do was look out for him—'cause they cared about him, and they wanted him to be healthy and feel better, and what else in the whole world could Mikey  _possibly_ say to that besides,

"Sure, bro." He watched relief bleed into Raph's green eyes, something slow and soft happening to his face; and couldn't help adding with a chirp, "You're buying, right? I want Domino's pizza, from the  _a la carte_ line! Pepperoni, dude."

Donnie laughed outright at that, and the scowl that crossed Raph's face was purely for show.

* * *

Mikey caught Mondo in the hall the next day, and asked him to tell one of his buddies on the football team to tell Bradford to meet him after school instead of at lunch—and then he'd just have to cross his fingers and hope that game of telephone ended well. Mondo gave him a thumb's up and promised to pass the word along—pretty quickly, too, normally Mikey had to do a couple minutes of whining or pleading (or both) to get the guy to do much of anything for him.

 _Oh, yeah,_ he remembered suddenly, as Mondo hurried off in kind of an earnest way that really didn't suit him,  _I yelled at them yesterday._ Mondo was probably eager to do him a favor to get back in his good graces.

 _Oookay_ , Mikey definitely felt bad about that now.  _I'll make it up to them at our next practice,_ he decided. But he had art with Timmy, and Napoleon was in his drama class, and he usually saw Woody half a dozen times throughout the day, so he'd apologize to those guys when he saw them. It  _did_ suck of them not to tell him about the thing with Bradford and the Dragons, but it was kind of hypocritical of Mikey to get peeved at anybody for keeping secrets, wasn't it?

Math was actually pretty doable; they were just doing a worksheet, and they got to double up, and he and the blond girl (her name was Renet, she was pretty adorable) had made each other a solemn vow to be partners in every assignment until the end of the year. Neither of them were any good at math, at  _all_ , but they both had something to bring to the table: Renet was really good at guessing the right answer off the top of her head, and Mikey had a genius brother who would totally help them study if they asked nicely enough. Boom. Partnership. Passing grade, in the bag.

"It's not so bad," Renet was saying as they walked, scanning her graded worksheet. Mikey hurried to push the door open for her when it looked like she would walk straight into it. "Um, a C isn't bad, right?"

"Donnie says we can do better than a C," he said, with an air of resignation. "Oh, speaking of Donnie, there he is." His big brother was waving at him from their usual table, a peculiar grin on his face. Mikey waved back, then canted a smile Renet's way. "Wanna eat with us, and have him look at our worksheet? He explains stuff way better than the teachers do. Or you could make your escape now."

She giggled, and tossed her long hair over one shoulder. "I think I'm, like,  _mathed out_ for the day, y'know? But I'll take a raincheck! See you tomorrow, Mike."

As he headed towards the table Donatello was parked at, Mikey couldn't help but think it was  _so weird_ that he'd had the same class with someone as fun as Renet for like four months now, and he'd only made friends with her a few days ago.

"Hey there, little brother," Donnie asked as Mikey tossed his bookbag into a free seat. His grin was a curled, sly thing, and Mikey… didn't think he liked it very much. So he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, deliberately easing himself into a chair like his brother was some strange creature that would spring if he made too sudden a move. Don folded his hands, resting his chin on top. "Who was that just now?"

"Renet? She's from my math class," Mikey said slowly. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Donnie said,  _way_  too flippantly for there not to actually be a reason. Mikey frowned, and probably would have said a thing or two about his brother acting like complete a weirdo if Raph hadn't shown up right about then, bottled sodas under one arm and a whole box of pizza in the opposite hand. "Oh, wow, thanks Raph."

"Eh, don't get used to it," Raphael said gruffly, tossing Mikey his orange Crush and sliding a Dr. Pepper in Don's general direction. "The Princess here wanted pizza, figured we might as well all have some."

"You're my favorite brother," Mikey sang-song, grabbing a slice for each hand. "I mean that with all my heart."

"He can be bought so easily," Don mused with an amused quirk to his eyebrow. "We should probably be worried about that."

"Hey, as long as he's getting three square meals a day and a solid eight hours a night, I'm happy," Raph said, and that was that.

* * *

The telephone game ended up not going so well, because Mikey had been lingering by the library doors for close to fifteen minutes, now, and there was still no sign of Bradford.  _Euurghh_ , that was the last time he trusted Mondo's dumb football friend.

He was considering taping a note to the wall or something, when he heard his name called, and turned to find Woody weaving through the crowd toward him. The older kid's face was so expressive that Mikey could read the  _"I'm sorry"_ neatly, just in the drooping brown of his eyes and the turn of his mouth. So when Woody joined him in the little alcove by the entrance to the library, Mikey didn't give him time to get a word in edgewise.

"Sorry for snapping at you yesterday, dude," he said ruefully. "I feel pretty lame about the whole thing."

"Wha—oh, Mikester, it's all good," his teammate replied, looking surprised and gratified, and  _ridiculously_ relieved, all at once. "We could all tell you've been a little under the weather lately, y'know? And we shouldn't have kept you in the dark like we did, that's not what teams do."

Mikey offered a fist, and a sideways smile. "Still pals, right?"

"Aw, of course we are, amigo." They bumped knuckles, and then Woody was slinging a familiar arm around his shoulders and ruffling his hair. "Wanna head to the parking lot together, or are you waitin' on somebody?"

"Ummm." He glanced around one last time; still no crazy tall football players in the immediate vicinity. "Nah, I'm good, we can go."

There was sort of a strange feeling nagging at him, all the way through the hall and the auditorium and out the front doors. He grinned at Woody's narration of how awkward the rest of yesterday's practice was after Mikey had stormed off, and added his two cents here and there, but in the back of his mind, something just felt  _off._

It was that "forgot-to-lock-the-door" feeling. A tugging, insistent, super uneasy feeling. Like he'd overlooked something, or misplaced something, or… he didn't know,  _something,_ and it was really bugging him out.

And it didn't make any sense, because things were good. Things were awesome, even; he was on the level with his brothers, he was making good with his friends, his day had been pretty average, pretty okay—so what the heck, brain?

They were squeezing between a truck and a Prius parked too closely together to get to the row Raph's spot was in (going around wouldn't have been as much fun) when Mikey's phone went off. It was probably Don, texting to make sure Mikey had a ride home with Raph so he could stay and do geeky things in the chemistry lab, and he went digging for his cell to fire back an affirmative; then Woody said, "Hey, who's that guy with your brother?" and Mikey looked up, and—

stopped dead, so sharply Woody ran into him.

Because right next to Raph, with a companionable arm propped up on his shoulder, and a sharklike grin on his face, was...

 _This can't be happening,_ was all he had time to think, and then Raph caught sight of him.

"Mikey!" he exclaimed; delight stark in his green eyes, a grin stretched across his face in a wide, bright way as he waved his younger brother over. "Mikey, you'll never  _believe_  who I just ran into! Check it out, kiddo, it's  _Spike!_  You might not remember him, you were really little—"

And Mikey just stood there, staring up into eyes that were still a vivid turquoise, even from a few car lengths away. He almost flinched when the man took a step toward him (and then another, then another), his whole body locking up all tense and rigid; but with Woody right beside him, and Raph smiling from beside his old motorcycle, Mikey somehow managed not to.

"I certainly remember you," the Bogeyman said, with a smile that brought weeks' worth of nightmares rushing back at the drop of a hat, that made Mikey shiver involuntarily. He extended his hand for Mikey to shake, and added, "Good to see you again, Michelangelo."


	26. Team Meeting - Part 1

Mikey was about to die. He knew it.

He just never thought it'd be like  _this_.

"Hob, you're a maniac!" Woody yelled when Hob stomped on the acceleration to plow through a yellow stoplight. "I hate your driving! And I hate your truck! And if you turn us into street pancakes  _I'll hate you!"_

"The peanut gallery in the back can shut the hell up," came Hob's less-than-pleasant rejoinder. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, like he was trying to strangle the thing more than he was trying to drive with it, and the glare he tossed at Mikey was all simmering heat and sharp edges. "What the hell was that back there?" he snapped tersely. "What kinda company does your brother keep, anyway? And what the hell were  _you_ doin' with that creep?"

Mikey, clinging to his seat with one hand and the grip handle by the passenger side window with the other, replied with a high-pitched "oh jeez Hob  _eyes on the road!"_ His captain growled something unflattering, sharp eyes darting back to the windshield as he merged sharply (without a signal) and Mikey whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut at the chorus of blaring horns from behind Hob's truck.

They were so gonna die.

"You're lucky I was comin' to find you," Hob continued with a bite, and Woody—stuffed in the tiny backseat of the cabin, curled almost double to fit his long legs—muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "lucky if we're not on the six o'clock news." "Start talkin', Gold. I wanna know what the hell is goin' on with you."

"Only if you stop driving," Mikey squeaked, panic-stricken at the  _bare inches_ of distance between his side of the truck and the Crown Vic in the neighboring lane. He had a brand new appreciation for his family of exasperatingly safe drivers (even Casey and Raph exuded Driving Miss Daisy when Mikey was in the car), and he would never ever  _ever_ complain about it ever again. "I'll do whatever you want forever, I swear, just please stop driving."

Hob sighed the way a disgruntled cat probably would, all  _put-out_ like Mikey was being  _ridiculous;_ twirled the steering wheel and guided his Chevy up over a curb, into the half empty parking lot of a Five Guys. The truck's suspension groaned in an alarming way, and as soon as Hob hit the brakes, and jammed the ancient gearstick into park, Mikey was scrambling for the door.

"We're alive!" he exclaimed, as Woody spilled out next to him gracelessly. They were still puddled there when Hob got out and circled around to their side of the truck, and Woody draped one arm around Mikey's shoulders and used the other hand to flip Hob off.

Hob's arms were crossed, and he looked whole worlds of unamused, but Mikey didn't think he was  _totally_  imagining the soft edge to the gruff junior's eyes. And he didn't, like, start kicking them or anything, so that was a plus.

The raw terror of being passenger to Hob's driving was easing into a wondering sort of "ha ha I can't believe I lived through that," instead, and Mikey giggled a little now that it was over. The cracked asphalt was cold under his hands, seeping past his layers of clothes like ghostly fingers. The skies had been winter gray for what felt like  _forever,_ only occasionally sunny here and there, and it was hard to say if all the rain would turn to snow soon or not; either way, Mikey got cold so  _easily_ lately.

Between the fading adrenaline and the crisp November chill in the air, it was only a handful of seconds before he started shivering. It was probably that, more than anything else, that propelled Woody to stand and give Mikey a hand up. "Where's your jacket, Mikester?"

"I accidentally left it in Donnie's car this morning," he said, and Hob rolled his eyes so hard Mikey was distantly afraid he'd sprain something. Heatedly, Mikey added, "Hey, leave me alone! I wasn't expecting to get abducted after school and dragged into an impromptu roadtrip!"

That was  _basically_ what happened.

"We didn't even leave Queens, moron," Hob replied shortly. "Woody, where you were sittin', there's some blankets. Grab 'em, and meet us in the back."

"Aye, aye, captain."

Mikey puffed his cheeks out. He wasn't a little kid, and it was starting to occur to him how often everyone treated him like he was. And he would definitely have to say something about that, but… He  _was_ cold. And hanging out in the bed of the truck sounded fun.

So he clambered up agreeably, scooting aside a loose tire with the toe of his sneaker, and settled all snug beside the wheel well toolbox thingy. Woody's call of "incoming," was Mikey's only warning before a huge wool blanket was dumped unceremoniously on top of his head. The ancient truck groaned a little as Hob and Woody climbed in, and Mikey managed to detangle himself in time to see them settle across from him; Hob leaning on the lip of the truck bed, Woody perched on the opposite wheel well.

"Are we allowed to park here if we don't get something to eat?" Mikey asked, and Hob snorted.

"They can take it up with me if they got a problem," was all he said. "Talk to me, kid. What was that guy doing with your brother?"

Oh, yeah.

 _That_.

Now that his life wasn't in immediate danger, now that he was sitting still and had time to  _think,_ Mikey could feel the cool dread come creeping back; something weighted and awful beginning to gnaw at the pit of his stomach with  _teeth_.

"Goldie, we're on  _your_  side here," Woody said, and he sounded so worried—so much unlike his usual self—that it made Mikey feel even worse. "Just tell us what's going on."

Where did he even  _start?_

Back at the school parking lot—where he'd been numb with shock or fear, or something a little more honestly confused; with his brain gone totally blank, and with Raph just  _standing_ there, pleased as punch, while a monster man took step after step closer to his little brother. ( _You're supposed to take_ care _of me, Raph, and you were gonna let the Boogeyman get me,_ Mikey thought suddenly, and it was such a stupid, unfair, largely  _unwanted_  thought that he wasn't sure where it had even come from.)

And when the Boogeyman put out his hand, without that stretching smile that spotlighted all of Mikey's bad dreams and a pleasant, human expression on his face instead, Mikey had just _stared_ at him. Hyper aware of Woody standing just behind him, of his brother standing too many feet away, the monster-man dead center and taking up his whole line of sight. And he had moved on autopilot, like his arm was its own separate person as he lifted it to return the handshake.

But he had barely had time to move at all before suddenly,  _Hob._

The older boy's hand had closed around his wrist from out of literally  _nowhere_ , and Mikey had blinked dumbly at it. "Sorry, Raphael," the junior had said, his voice curiously flat and level. "Coach called a meeting today, we need Goldie with us."

Raph's smile had dwindled a little; eyes sharp and green, and fixed on Mikey's face, they only moved to Hob after a handful of seconds. "But, I thought the season was—"

"Pre-season stuff, yo," Woody had explained, cottoning on flawlessly while Mikey did his best impression of a particularly confused fish. He'd threaded both arms around Mikey's shoulders and leaned on him, probably grinning in that easy, disarming way he had. And even though Mikey hadn't had a clue what was going on—at all, anywhere, even a little bit—he knew better than to doubt his friends.

"Right," he'd lied, only a beat too late. "Pre-season stuff. That's what I came out here to tell you."

And with that they were gone. Hob hadn't let go of him all the way to his truck where it was parked a few aisles down, and neither did Woody. And now, here they were. In the parking lot of a burger joint, each with a new lease on life, about a hundred questions probably, and—if you were Mikey—an overwhelming urge to throw up. Or cry. Maybe both.

Those options sucked. So he huffed out a sigh, and squirmed under the blanket until it was bunched up around his ears, so it blocked the wind; and also so he could twist his fingers anxiously in  _secret,_ from under the folds of warm, scratchy wool.

"I don't know," Mikey began, and hesitated. He didn't know  _what_ he didn't know. At this point he didn't know  _anything._ So he shrugged one shoulder, looking across at his friends helplessly, and reaffirmed the idea. "I don't know."

"Start with the creepy guy," Woody suggested. "Who was he?"

"He's trouble, that's who he is," Hob said by way of answer, eyes glinting almost gold in the late afternoon sun. "How d'you know that guy, Goldilocks?"

"I  _don't!_ I mean… I didn't."

Raph said, but… Mikey couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that the Boogeyman was  _Spike._ Not little Spike—two years older than Mikey and not an inch taller, all gangly and thin and shy. They had  _played_ together; Mikey had been little at the time, five or six, but he could still remember splashing with Spike in sidewalk puddles and making shadow puppets in the street lights, and sharing toys salvaged from the road side or alley ways. All his memories of Spike were warm and good—a little bleak and gray, a little  _sad_ in retrospect, but  _good_.

He just couldn't reconcile that kid from his childhood with the man he saw today. There was no _way._

"I met him after our championship game," he finally said, slowly. "On the soccer field, when—I had to run back and get my bag 'cause I forgot it, and he was there." There was total radio silence from his friends' side of the truck, and Mikey continued a careful study of his covered knees. It was easier to recap the whole thing this time, having already done it once for Leatherhead, and again for his brothers. "He sorta—I dunno, he didn't  _introduce_  himself. I wouldn't call that "knowing" him."

"He scared you," Hob said with certainty, and—yeah, there was no denying that, not when Mikey had needed their rescue; not when he was huddled like a sad burrito in the bed of Hob's truck after just  _seeing_ the guy again. So he nodded, and Hob's face went dark.

"Aw, Mikester." Woody looked like he was going through something painful as he leaned forward. "You didn't even tell anybody, did you? You wouldn't have been so outta sorts for so long if you'd told one of your big bros, or your sister."

Normally it made Mikey smile to hear April or Casey get lumped in with his other siblings. This time he just shrugged. It made Woody frown, and Hob folded his arms again.

"That doesn't explain why Raphael was all buddy-buddy with him," he prompted, and Mikey didn't know  _how_ to go about explaining that.

"Raph said… Well, he said that guy was  _Spike_." Mikey sat forward, got one arm free because he had to physically gesture just how  _widely_ that wasn't possible. "Spike is this kid we used to know, back when we were homeless." For whatever reason, Hob's unwavering gaze turned into something sharper, something more like a glare without any of the heat that usually came with it, and Woody sort of flinched.

" _Homeless?"_

 _Whoops._ "Leo doesn't like when we talk about it," he said, crestfallen. Woody opened his mouth again, probably to press the matter—because yeah, yikes, that was kind of an accidental bombshell—but Hob shut him up with an elbow to the ribs. Thanks, Hob. "And anyway," Mikey added, pushing the conversation along, "I don't think that guy  _could_ be Spike. Spike was really sweet, and nice, and  _short."_

"People can change in a few years," Hob told him, settling back more heavily against the side of the truck. He seemed somehow reassured, like knowing for  _sure_ that Mikey wasn't palling around with Mr. Creepy had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. "God knows you're probably waitin' on a growth spurt." Mikey scowled. A short joke? Seriously,  _now_? "But whether or not your brother knew him back in the day doesn't matter—that guy is  _bad news."_

"My buddy Leatherhead said the same thing," Mikey said weakly. He felt sort of exhausted, wished Leo hadn't banned him from energy drinks, and he still had super tiny little shivers running down his arms. "But L didn't know much about him, not even his name."

"Y' hear rumors. My kid sister ran with the Dragons for a few years before she got her head on straight, and got herself out." Mikey blinked, and lifted his head. He didn't think he'd ever heard Hob freely volunteer personal information, and from the look on Woody's face he wasn't alone in his surprise. "And from what Angel told me, he's the top dog's right hand. He gets paid the big bucks, 'cause he does all the dirty work. She said his name was Slash."

Oh. Okay.

That was only  _really_   _alarming_.

Mikey's eyes fell back to his lap, heart racing. What was a guy like  _that_  doing with his brother? If "Slash" really  _was_ Spike, what was he doing all huge and scary and running with the Purple Dragons? What was he doing back in their lives now, after close to ten years of being  _gone—_ and why did he disappear in the first place?

And if Slash  _wasn't_  Spike—and he  _couldn't_  have been—then what the heck was his problem? Mikey's family had nothing to do with the Purple Dragons—Casey had had a few run-ins with them in the past, but those bridges were burned  _years_  ago. It didn't make sense!

"The only thing I ever had to do with the dumb Dragons was that time with the cat," Mikey blurted, throwing up his hands in frustration, and a large amount of thinly-disguised distress, but mostly just pure, honest confusion. "Why bring out the big guns over one stray kid and one stray cat, when three regular grade goons were  _more_ than enough to beat me up?"

"Well," Woody said slowly, "you have a little more to do with them than that, Mikester." Mikey paused to fix him with a stare, his hands still in the air where he'd flung them, and the lanky midfielder mussed his already messy hair in a nervous way, darting an uncertain glance towards Hob. "I mean—Bradford, right?"

Bradford.

_Right._

His brother ran the Purple Dragons or whatever, right? And he had said there was something important he needed to talk to Mikey about...  _Ugh,_ he should have skipped lunch today, after all.

"I need to talk to him," Mikey decided, standing up and shedding the blanket. He climbed down from the truck, and tugged his phone out of his pocket. Mondo would probably have Xever's number, and he could get Bradford's number from him—but a firm hand on his shoulder made him pause, and he glanced up into Hob's narrowed, cat-like eyes.

"If you get sick 'cause you forgot your coat, you're an idiot," Hob told him sharply, and then tossed the blanket Mikey had left behind back over his head. "And if you think you're doin' this by yourself, you're an even bigger one _."_

It took a few minutes for Mikey to translate the "take care of yourself," and "I'm here to help," from the brusque, bad-tempered mannerisms of his crotchety team captain; but when he did, it warmed him all the way down to his bones.

"I'm not an idiot," he grumped back, but only because Hob didn't like to hear "thank you" out loud.


	27. Team Meeting - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe that just a few days ago it was Problem Child's first birthday? I can't believe it's been a year! And you guys have been incredibly awesome- and patient- and I can't thank you enough for all your support. Hopefully the rest of the ride is as great as it's been so far!

Hob tried to take the driver's seat again, but Woody punched him and took his keys. And so it was Mikey's Irish friend behind the wheel, while their captain sulked it out from the passenger side.

And Mikey was tucked into the backseat, since he fit folded back there much easier than the other two of their current party; and he was passing his phone back and forth from hand to hand without really making any move to actually use it, mind racing at like half the speed of sound.

It took Mondo all of six minutes to text back with Bradford's number, and now that Mikey had saved it into his contacts list, his phone felt like it weighed ten pounds. He definitely needed to talk to Bradford, but even more than that, he needed to talk to Raph. All else aside, he'd sort of just left his brother alone with the object of all his nightmares- which probably made Mikey the  _literal_ worst- and the  _very first_ thing he should have done was call to make sure Raph was okay.

But... Raph was  _friends_ with him. With the Boogeyman.

Out of all the possible scenarios, out of all the bad dreams,  _that_ was something Mikey hadn't seen coming. His big bro, buddies with the bad guy.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Raph thought Slash was Spike. He didn't know "Spike" was the same dude from the soccer field. It he  _had_ known, then there was no way Raph would have been so tight with him. He would have taken Mikey's side in a heartbeat, childhood friend or not.

Right?

"We droppin' you off at home, Mikester?" Woody asked at a red light, and Mikey unlocked his phone and locked it again. Turned it over in his hands a few times. Deliberated.

Donnie was gonna be late at school, doing geeky science things, and Raph and Leo were gonna be even later, since they both had long shifts at work that night. Even Casey was busy, since hockey season just started, and April tutored on Fridays.

That meant Mikey was home alone for the bigger part of the night. And something twisted in his stomach at the thought, and propelled him into a decision that really wasn't that difficult to make in the first place.

He unlocked his phone again, with purpose this time, and hit a number he had on speed dial.

"Actually," he said to Woody, as he put the phone to his ear, "d'you think you could take me to Murray Hill?"

* * *

Even with Woody driving like a human being, it only took about ten minutes in the early evening traffic to make it to the familiar brownstone apartment building. The ancient truck seemed to sigh in relief when Woody pulled up to the curb and parked, turning off the engine with a hard twist of the stubborn key starter.

"He says he's coming down to meet me," Mikey said, gathering the straps of his bag in one hand and shoving his phone into his pocket. Hob popped open his door and stepped out, so Mikey could scramble out after him. "Thanks for the lift, dudes," he added, and Hob shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. Who lives here, anyway?"

"My buddy with the cat," Mikey said. "The one I told you guys about."

And speak of the devil, at that moment the front door opened with a yawning sigh, and Mikey's buddy came down the porch steps. He was dressed comfortably in weather-appropriate jeans and a hoodie- how the heck he found a hoodie big enough for himself, Mikey would wonder about forever probably- and gave Mikey a Look he'd recognize  _anywhere_.

"'Where's your jacket?'" Mikey parroted right along with him, and stuck his tongue out at LH's disgruntled expression. "I got  _kidnapped,_ it's not my fault."

"Kidnapped?"

"Yeah, that'd be our fault," Woody said with a friendly wave from where he was hanging out of the open passenger side window. "I'm Woody, this is Hob."

"From Michelangelo's soccer team, right? He talks about you."

"Hah, oh yeah? He talks about you all the time, too."

"He's  _right here_ ," Mikey said, trying (and failing) to keep a whine out of his voice. "And he's  _cold_." It made his friends roll their eyes, but Woody scooted back into the driver's side and Hob climbed back into the truck.

And before they drove off into the sunset, Hob beckoned Mikey to the window.

"You  _tell me_ before you do anything stupid," his captain told him sternly, jabbing a finger at him, "or I swear to god I'll keep you benched next year."

"Jeez, you don't have to threaten me!"

"Promise me, Goldie."

Mikey huffed at him, folding his arms. "I promise I'll tell you before I do something stupid."

It could have been a trick of the evening light, but Mikey could have sworn something soft came and went through Hob's eyes. It was too quick to tell, and then Hob was giving him a shove back onto the sidewalk.

"Good. And call your brother."

"See you Monday, Mikester!"

Mikey waved until they turned the corner at the intersection a block down, and then glanced up at LH. Running to his friend always seemed to be his failsafe, lately, but now that he was here Mikey wasn't even sure where he should start.

"So," he said, slowly, "stuff happened today."

Leatherhead blinked, then his mouth drew thin. "We're going to need to sit down for this one, aren't we?"

"Heh, yeah. Probably."

The elevator in Leatherhead's building actually  _worked,_ but LH had a bunch of elderly neighbors, and he tried not to use it unless he had to. So they took to the stairs, instead, and the climb gave Mikey time to try to get his thoughts together.

_Okay, so, get this: the Boogeyman came to my school today! He's friends with my big brother! I left them alone together. At my school, where the Boogeyman was. Did I mention they're friends? Also, I think I'm having a heart attack._

Leatherhead's hand closing on his shoulder was the only thing that stopped Mikey from walking in to a wall. He blinked. "Oh. Thanks, dude."

"I have something that might make you feel better," LH said, pushing open his door.

Mikey stepped around him, and blinked into the very normal, regular space of Leatherhead's entry way.

"Oh. Um. I like what you've done with the place?" Then, probably less than a second later, he heard a little meow, and the sound of tiny feet thumping to the floor from the couch, and his mouth fell open.

"Kitty!"

Mikey only barely had time to drop his bag and kneel to catch the enthusiastic streak of orange and white as it came barreling at him from around the corner.

"Oh, my gosh,  _look_ at her! Her fur's all grown back, too!"

He heard Leatherhead close the door behind him, and scoop his bag off the ground to deposit it in one of the kitchen stairs, instead. His voice was fond as he said, "Her last appointment with the vet was Wednesday. She has some medicine to take, to help with skin irritation, but she's home for good now."

There was just something  _about_ cats. Mikey buried his face in warm, orange fur and soaked up the loud purrs, smiling at the soft paws that started kneading the front of his shirt. He bundled the cat up carefully in both arms, and climbed back to his feet. She had bowls of food and water on the kitchen table, so that's where Mikey sat. Kitty didn't seem interested in leaving the circle of his arms, though, leaning up to bump her face against his chin, and that made him beam.

"I think she remembers me!"

"Of course she does. You're the one who saved her back then."

Mikey spent whole minutes just cooing at her, kissing her nose and stroking the distinct tabby markings in the fur on her forehead, and when Leatherhead finally joined him at the table it was with two mugs of hot cocoa, a blanket, and a shallow dish of wet cat food all balanced precisely in his hands. Pshh, rocket scientists were show-offs. The cat food got Kitty's attention, though, and Mikey opened his arms to let her climb out and eat.

"I'm glad she's feeling better," Mikey said, grinning at the noisy way Kitty lapped up her treat. He accepted one of the mugs and the blanket gratefully, winding the warm afghan around his shoulders. "Have you come up with a name for her yet?"

"I thought you might help me with that," LH said, taking the chair across the table from him. "She's more yours than mine."

"Says the guy who's doing all the taking care of her," Mikey argued cheerfully. "I'm not gonna dump you just 'cause you think of a super cool name for our cat before me."

"I'll keep that in mind," his friend replied dryly. "Anyway, tell me about this "stuff" that happened today."

Oddly enough, in LH's apartment, with his friend smiling at him all crooked and amused, and the cat Mikey rescued weeks ago looking happy and healthy, and a warm blanket around his shoulders and a warm drink in his hands... That twisting, choking dread didn't really have a leg to stand on. Mikey took a deep breath, and didn't feel like he was drowning.

_Huh._

So he smiled back, just a little anxiously, and said, "Well- "

But at that point Kitty had finished her food, and knocked the plastic dish right off the table with a well-aimed paw. LH made a startled grab for it and missed, and the dish hit the carpet harmlessly and bounced once, rolling under the table. Kitty then proceeded to wash her face in a very satisfied and dignified manner.

"She does that all the time," Leatherhead said with an air of resignation, getting up to retrieve the bowl, and Mikey reached over to ruffle the cat's ears.

"So you're a little troublemaker, huh?" he said, grinning. "That's awesome. You need an awesome name."

Kitty meowed loudly at Mikey's praise, bumping her face against his fingers. Then, as if to show off, she scooted a stray book to the table's edge next; it teetered there precariously for a second or two, then fell to the floor with a solid little  _klunk._


	28. Team Meeting - Part 3

"Okay," Mikey said, spreading his hands above the table, the way Donatello sometimes did when there was a bee in his bonnet about something sciencey he learned at school or something stupid Casey talked him into. It was a pretty specific gesture, all things considered. "So, get this. You ready?"

He was feeling- pretty  _good,_ right about now. About everything. Like there was something magic in the walls of LH's apartment that made scary stuff harmless and bad stuff disappear. It kind of felt like being at home, before stuff with his brothers got all weird. Mikey didn't totally understand it- but feeling _pretty good_ was way better than feeling nervous and shaky and a little sick to his stomach all the time.

So heck, understanding stuff was overrated as far as he was concerned. And Mikey wasn't the type of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Leatherhead pushed aside his empty mug and folded his arms on the top of his tiny kitchen table, giving a firm nod. Mikey gave him bonus points for keeping a straight face. He  _was_ kinda setting this whole thing up as a joke. Oh, well. It was just how he dealt with stuff.

"I'm ready," his friend said, and Mikey settled into story-mode.

"Awesome, okay. So...remember Spike? Raph's old friend, the one I told you about?"

"The scrappy one," Leatherhead supplied helpfully, and Mikey pointed at him with a triumphant snap of his fingers.

"That's the one!" Man, astrophysicists were smart cookies. "Well, scrappy Spike is back in town. That's pretty crazy timing, right? And- it turns out-  _Spike_ is the creep from my soccer game. You know, the Boogeyman. Also goes by the name of Slash."

Okay... Just let that sink in...

Leatherhead sat up straight, blinking. Opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Mikey watched, a little fascinated, and then a wrinkle creased his friend's brow and the edges of his mouth turned down.

"And you know this  _how?"_

"'Cause he was at my school today. Talking to Raph." Despite the magical powers of LH's Fortress of Solitude, a little hint of the dread was creeping back into the pit of Mikey's stomach, and his smile started feeling a little fixed and wooden. "They're buddies, apparently."

A few more minutes went by, and Leatherhead just sat there staring at Mikey like he was some kind of mutant. Not cool, dude. His next move, when he shook himself out of his semi-stupor, was to snatch up his half-empty mug and knock it back like it was something a lot stronger than lukewarm hot chocolate. Heh, he probably wished it was. Mikey seemed to have that effect on people these days.

"I sure know how to liven up a Friday night, am I right?" he joked weakly, and Leatherhead huffed a half-hearted laugh.

"You sure do. At least that explains why your teammates kidnapped you without your coat."

 _Why_ was everyone so hung up on the coat? Jeez, it wasn't  _Antarctica_ outside. Kitty chose that moment to jump back into his lap, and he scratched her behind the ears. LH ran a hand through his hair, giving Mikey a quick, careless glimpse of the burns underneath; he looked restless, all of a sudden, and worried.

Man, Mikey felt bad about that. All he did was worry people these days, and it was always his  _favorite_ people, too.

"Did your brother leave with him?" came the unexpected question, and Mikey felt tripped up by it.

"Uh- I dunno. But I don't think so, Raph has a long shift tonight. He would have gone to work right after school."

LH's eyes narrowed by about a milimeter. "Call him," he said firmly, and Mikey's gut twisted uncomfortably. "Just to make sure."

 _Obviously_ he needed to call him. Raph could have gone somewhere with that creepy guy- and his brother was tough as nails, but Spike- Slash- the Creep, whatever- that guy was  _huge._ Mikey would worry about  _Leatherhead_ alone with that guy. And he was worried about Raph, of course he was.

But...

"But he's  _friends_ with him," Mikey whispered, and it was such an ugly thing to say. He knew it was. Raph didn't know, Raph didn't mean to. Raph wasn't choosing Slash over Mikey, not really. But... he'd been so freaked out for so long, and he still was a little bit, and everything felt uprooted and shaken and unfamiliar, and-

And he'd never  _imagined_ that his big brother would  _smile_ at the man who scared him. It seemed to change everything, make everything different. It  _shouldn't,_ Raph was Raph and always would be, but...

"What if he... What if he doesn't... "

"He's your brother." Leatherhead's tone didn't change very much, but his steely eyes were understanding, and the lump in Mikey's throat shrank just a little bit. "Just call him."

Well, how could he argue with that logic? He shifted the ball of Kitty in his lap to shimmy out his phone, and unlocked it with a swipe of his finger to scroll through his contacts. He had all his brothers' work numbers saved, they all did- just one of those weird, inconsequential things that made Leo feel better about letting his little brothers loose into the world- and finding the number of the auto shop where Raph worked was a matter of moments.

He put the phone to his ear as soon as it started ringing, and Leatherhead smiled encouragingly at him from his side of the table, getting up to gather their empty mugs and Kitty's empty dish.

He was being terrible and selfish and dumb. He should have called Raph first thing. He should have never left him in the first place. He should  _not_ be counting each ring and praying no one would pick up the-

_"Pomonok Tire and Auto, Ruth speaking."_

Aw, man.

But at least it was Ruth- the tiny, tattoo'd owner of the garage, and the only person in the world besides Leo and maybe like two teachers that Raph would ever answer to. She was in her late thirties, Mikey thought he remembered Al saying once, and dainty as could be, with curly brown hair that framed a heart-shaped face; but she could pretty much strike pure fear into anybody's heart, if her temper was lit and she had a torque wrench in hand, and she had a mouth on her that reminded Mikey a little bit of the gruff sailors in the old films Casey liked to watch.

"Uh- hey, Ruthie! It's Mike!"

On the other end of the line there was a soft sound of papers moving, then the creak of the ancient office chair. He couldn't help smiling at how delighted she sounded next.

_"Mike! I haven't heard from you in ages, how've you been?"_

"Pretty good! How 'bout you?" Leatherhead gave him a pointed look from the other side of the kitchen counter. The "I know you're trying to stall right now, knock it off" look. Huh. When had he gotten so good at reading into the nuances of LH's facial expressions? "Um... actually, I was wondering if Raph came in tonight?"

And it was right there in the two-second pause before she answered that Mikey realized how honestly worried he was. What if she said  _no?_ What if she told him Raph was a no-call, no-show, that she hadn't heard a peep from him all night? What if-

_"Yeah, baby, of course he's here. I always give him long weekend hours, he 'bout whines my ear off when I don't."_

Mikey sank into his chair, head falling back. Thank god. The "what-ifs" were getting worse by the second. He waved to get LH's attention and gave him a thumbs up, returning his friend's relieved smile with a bright version of his very own. Things were totally on the fast track to being A-Okay again-

_"You wanna talk to him? Give me just a second... RAPH! Office!"_

All his thoughts came screeching to a halt, complete with the smell of burnt rubber and rolling smoke that spelled out  _"uh oh"_ in cartoon letters. "No, wait- hang on, Ruthie, I don't- "

_"Yo."_

Mikey froze. Blinked. Swallowed hard. "Hi, Raph."

 _"Oh, hey."_ His brother sounded... okay. Fine. Not hurt or stressed, or shaken or stirred. Kinda... kinda ticked off, actually. What was that about?  _"How's that pre-season stuff?"_

Woah. That was a calling-out if Mikey ever heard one. He wilted, right there on the spot. "Uh... actually, we didn't... Hob and Woody just, sorta- "

Raph cut him off almost right away, like he had a whole bunch of pent-up things to say and he couldn't help but get started. A guilty pit opened in the bottom of Mikey's stomach at how upset his brother sounded. His fault, totally his fault.

 _"Can it, kid. You got a lot o' nerve, you know that?"_ It would have been better if Raph started shouting, probably. Mikey sank low, like a wounded dog, at his brother's calm, steady tone of voice. The not-yelling was always way worse.  _"Do you think I'm an idiot or somethin'? Seriously? I mean, you look at Spike like you've seen a freakin'_ ghost,  _and then- "_

"Raph- Raph hold on a minute."  _Pull it together, Mikey! This is important. You promised no more secrets from your brothers, right? Talking about it the first time helped, everything turned out great. This time it'll work out, too. Probably._  "I don't think Slash is Spike. I mean- wait. I mean, that guy is the guy who- "

_"I know, you moron."_

Okay, wait.

What?

His silence must have done all the talking for him, because Raph sighed with gusto on the other end of the line.

_"I asked him after you took off. He must have figured I'd find out one way or another, 'cause he told me flat out."_

"He... " Mikey couldn't believe that. He traded a gobsmacked expression with Kitty, who looked more interested in the dangling, woven fringe of the blanket draped over his shoulder than anything else, and added an intelligent, "For real?"

_"Yeah, for real."_

Mikey leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop and cradle the phone closer to his ear, feeling paper thin and hollowed out by sheer surprise. "Then what?"

_"Then I called him a dick for scaring you, and punched him in the throat. Would've been his face, but the dude's stupid tall. He left after that, and I came to work."_

"You  _punched_ him?" That was a manly squeak that came out of his mouth just then, thank you very much. In the kitchen, Leatherhead dropped something in the sink with a sudsy  _splash_ and turned to give Mikey a wide-eyed look that probably mirrored his own perfectly. Unfortunately, Raph probably wasn't kidding. "Is your hand okay?"

Raph snorted.  _"Bruised like crazy. I had to ice it when I got here."_ He paused for a moment, and Mikey just sat there blinking into thin air, hanging on the silence.  _"Kid... Why didn't you tell me? Why'd you- shit, Mikey. Why'd you try to shake that creep's hand?"_

He hunched over a little, feeling his shoulders come up defensively. "I thought- if he was Spike, I thought you'd- "

 _"No way. Never. Mikey, I don't know what goes on in that head of yours half the time, but you gotta know you come first. You know that, don't you? You, Don and Leo, you three are_ always  _first."_

He sounded frustrated, and so freaking sincere that Mikey's eyes started burning with stupid tears that he wasn't about to let make an appearance. He rubbed his face and nodded, even though Raph couldn't see it, then blurted, "I'm really sorry, Raph. Really. I didn't mean to- "

 _"For the last time, you dork, I_ know.  _We're all tryin' to look out for each other here, and we only manage to get it right every once in a while. But we're tryin'. And... I'm glad you called."_ His tone changed, into something not quite as hard and sharp-edged, which meant Mikey was being forgiven.  _"It was way late in the game, but you told me the truth on your own. Thanks for that, little brother."_

Finally, Mikey felt free to smile. "Does it still count as on my own if LH told me to?"

 _"Just this once,"_ was the dry reply.  _"And hey- tell Leatherhead thanks from me, alright? He's a decent guy, for leavin' his door open for you all the time."_

Mikey's smiled tugged wider. "I'll tell him."

_"Good. And let Donnie know where you're at, if you haven't already. Dude's gonna flip if you go AWOL again."_

Yeah, that was true. "I will."

_"Alright, then. I'll see you at home. And, Mikey... don't worry. Everything's gonna be fine, okay? We'll take care of it."_

"Looks like that talk went well," Leatherhead said as he returned to his spot at the table, in the all-knowing manner of someone who was proven totally and completely correct about a thing. Probably because Mikey was grinning at his phone like a maniac as he hung up, but who knew for sure, really. "But... did I hear you right about Raph  _punching_ Slash?"

"Hah, yeah. Good old Raph." That was probably definitely gonna have ramifications later, but Mikey was determinedly  _not_ thinking of new things to stress out about. Not when his brother just  _punched the Boogeyman_ for him. How many kids could say their big brother did  _that?_ He was definitely in Smug Zone, and worry had a speed limit of like two miles per hour there. "He wanted me to tell you thanks, by the way" Mikey added, somewhat coyly, "for being such a great guy. Wasn't that sweet?"

He let LH flounder for a moment, so obviously trying to decide what to do with that information, and fired off a text to Donnie before he managed to forget.

_"hey D, im at LHs place. will u pick me up when ur done with ur nerd stuff?"_

"He thinks I'm a great guy?" LH said after a moment, testing the words carefully as he said them. It made Mikey chuckle a little bit. He could afford to do some reassuring of his own now, right?

" _Duh_ , of course he does. Leo, too. And Donnie... Donnie's coming around."

His genius brother spent a ton of his free time after school in the science labs, so it wasn't a huge surprise when Mikey didn't get an answer to his text right away. But sometime after LH ordered dinner, and Mikey picked out a DVD, he found a few messages waiting for him on his phone.

_"What are you doing there?"_

_"Nevermind."_

_"I'll come get you when I'm done. Be ready to go at eight."_

Donnie was...  _slowly_ coming around. Yikes.


	29. Team Meeting - Part 4

Donnie was actually a little later than he said he'd be, though not by much; so by the time he texted Mikey to let him know he was there, Mikey was totally ready to go. He had his bag over one shoulder, a borrowed jacket on (a hundred sizes too big, give or take), and it was the work of a few seconds to toe his sneakers on at the door.

"I really don't need this," Mikey said on principle, with a flap of a long sleeve where it drooped over his hand. "I'll be in the car in like two minutes."

"It won't kill you to wear it," LH said mildly, joining him by the door with Kitty tucked in the crook of one arm. Mikey gave her chin scritches, and couldn't help smiling at the way her purrs reverberated soundly against his fingers. "Just give it back next time you're here."

"Yeah, and next time I'll give you some warning, instead of just showing up," Mikey joked lamely.

He had realized it too late, when LH had started moving papers into a messenger bag to make room for their dinner; it looked like homework, lots of it, the papers and books Kitty had played with and scattered across the kitchen table. He'd totally just put everything aside for Mikey, like Mikey's boat-load of stupid problems were somehow more important than college. Mikey  _knew_ they weren't, and he still felt bad about the whole thing, but- just like earlier- LH caught his eye hard and held it.

"You can just 'show up' whenever you want. You're never going to be a  _burden_ , Michelangelo. I like having you here."

And well, what could Mikey possibly say to that? Nothing that wouldn't sound stupid, for sure, and he probably wouldn't be able to talk through the new smile stretched all the way across his face, anyway. So he plowed forward instead, wrapping Leatherhead around the middle in a hug as tight as he could make it.

"Ditto, dude," he told him, happy and muffled against Leatherhead's shirt. And he wanted to add something else, too- about how  _cool_  LH was, and how lucky Mikey was to be his friend, and how much better he felt after just a few hours in his tiny apartment; but something like that might make one or both of them more emotional than two dudes had any right to be, and Mikey was just about emotion'ed out for one day.

So he saved the sappy stuff for another time, and stepped away to wave jauntily with a flap of one of the too-long sleeves. But he was still grinning like an idiot as he dashed down the stairs and cut through the grass to his brothers' car, and not the sharp chill outside, or the suspicious look Don canted at him as he slid into the passenger seat, were enough to make him stop.

For the first time in almost a month, it really, honestly felt like he had nothing to worry about.

"Hi, D," he said brightly, clicking into his seatbelt. "Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem," Donnie said, and he seemed tired after all his nerd stuff at school, with lines under his eyes and an unhappy set to his mouth; but he reached over to tug the hood of Mikey's borrowed jacket out from where it had twisted under the seatbelt, then ruffled his hair for good measure. "Did you have fun?"

And if there was a trap in the words, Mikey couldn't find it. So he nodded, and said, "Sure did. I feel loads better now. LH always has the best advice, he's so smart it's bonkers."

Don looked at him sharply. Mikey wondered why for a split second- then blinked, and his mouth clicked shut. Oops.

' _I feel better now'_? That was as good as saying 'I didn't feel good before' as far as his brothers were concerned. And there was no use hoping Don would let it go, especially not after the past few weeks of Mikey being sick and feeling stalked and keeping secrets; sure enough, he pounced on the accidental admission a second later, like a hungry alleycat.

"What do you mean? Did something happen?"

"Uh… yeah, something did," Mikey said, slowly, because there was really no other answer- and he hadn't planned on  _not_ telling Don and Leo about Spike and Slash now that he'd told Raph, he just hadn't meant to bring it up  _right then_ on the short drive home. Oh, well. "I mean, I think it's okay now. I talked to Raph already, so- "

"Talk to  _me,_  Mikey, _"_ Don replied- and oh man, he was getting loud, and his hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He was so upset already, like it was something secondhand and lingering, there without his having to reach for it; and Mikey wondered how it was even possible for someone to exist like that, in a constant state of  _worry,_ without spontaneously combusting. "Just  _talk_  to me. Why do you feel like you can't do that anymore?"

"That's not fair," Mikey blurted, because it  _wasn't._ And he was kind of getting sick of being lectured."I just haven't had the chance to tell you about it yet, you  _just_ got here."

"But you had time to tell  _Lamar,_ " Don said snidely, dropping LH's real name like a bad word, eyes narrowing a little in some sort of suspicious misgiving. "You went to him before you came to me."

Mikey stared. Some of that contempt had to be the result of a bottled-up temper,  _had_ to be, Donnie wasn't a mean or vindictive person; but some part of that scorn in his tone, however big or small, was  _real._ And Mikey couldn't make sense of it.

LH was  _nice._ LH put aside all his work and studies because Mikey needed someone to talk to and someone to make him feel better. LH  _saved his life_ , and took care of his cat, and never did a thing wrong to anyone in Mikey's whole family, and said Mikey was always welcome.

LH was his  _friend_ , and Mikey's hands curled into fists in his lap; real, honest anger sweeping through him like a rushing wave.

"What is your  _problem?"_ he said, too loud and too sharp. The words came tumbling out almost on their own, and he let them; glaring at the surprise on Donnie's face. "What did he ever do to you?"

"That's not what we're talking abou- "

"It's exactly what we're talking about!" Mikey all but shouted. "You've had beef with him ever since the day you guys met, and you've only talked to him, like,  _twice._ Leo and Raph don't treat Leatherhead like some kinda monster- neither do Casey and April. And Hob and Woody met him today, too, and they got along just fine. It's just  _you."_

Donnie's eyes were round in the dim interior lights of the car, and he looked entirely unprepared for an argument. Which was stupid, since  _he_ was the one trying to start a fight in the first place, calling LH by his name and being a jerk. Sure,  _Mikey_ wasn't allowed to keep secrets or keep things to himself, but his  _brother_ could harbor some ridiculous dislike for his friend and just sit on it for ages, and make rude comments and give cold shoulders, and  _get_   _away_ with it for some reason.

Yeah, well, not anymore.

"And I don't get it," he continued, before Don had a chance to speak, or even come up with anything to say. "Casey's been arrested like a hundred times for a bunch of stupid stuff, but he's still your friend. That girl Jhanna from your chem class has so many tattoos she's practically  _blue_ , but you still crushed on her for months. Hob is like, the scariest guy ever, but you've never had a bad thing to say about  _him._ I just- I don't get it." And the anger was fading, almost as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by something more injured and frustrated.

Don had always been his buddy, ever since they were little. Don taught him how to read, and how to tie his shoes, and always held his hand when they crossed the street. And even as they got older, Mikey always thought he was so _lucky, '_ cause his big brother was his best friend and he was never lonely.

Except now his brother was being a  _jerk._ And it was awful, and unfamiliar, and for the first time  _ever_ Mikey felt like he almost didn't  _know_  him.

"It's not like that," Don said quickly, as soon as he had an opening. The streetlight turned red, and he eased on the brakes until they were stationary, then turned in his seat to face Mikey head-on. "It's not, Mikey, really. I don't have- 'beef,' with Leatherhead, I just- "

"Yes you do!" Mikey wasn't about to give, not now. And Don wasn't gonna  _excuse_  his way out of it this time. "Maybe not in the way  _normal_ people do, but I  _know_  you. And it just- it _sucks,_ dude. Really."

The light changed to green, but their car didn't move. Don was still and staring at him, and there was so much going on in his eyes and on his face that Mikey wasn't even going to try to puzzle it all out. Then the truck behind them honked, and Donnie started, facing front again and pushing their car forward through the winter dark.

Mikey folded his arms tightly, warm in his borrowed hoodie, and stared mulishly out his window. Leo would be on his side- Leo liked LH, if only because LH spared Mikey a stay in the hospital. And if Leo was on his side, everyone else would be, too. Donnie could be a butt all he wanted, see if Mikey cared.

And his feelings were totally not hurt. He was  _angry_ , not hurt.

_Yeah, just think it a few more times, and maybe you'll believe it._

Don broke the silence a moment later.

"How much do you know about him?" he asked, with hesitant steel in his voice; like he was ready to give way if Mikey started shouting again, but he had to force the issue anyway. "Like, _really_ know about him?"

"Ugh," Mikey said eloquently, scrubbing his face with one hand. "It's not like people have to pass a  _test_ to be your friend _,_ D. That's not how it works. And if there was a test, then LH passed it, because he helped me before he even  _knew_ me _._ " He felt cooped up in the car all of a sudden, and wished the Friday night traffic would hurry up already so they could get home and he could hide in his room till Monday and not talk to Don anymore. He couldn't help adding, a little sullenly, "And he's way more like us than you even know, dude. He was adopted, too, and now he's on his own just like we are. And he's going to a fancy college and studying stars and physics and rocket science- all the same stuff  _you_ like so much," he said, turning to jab a finger at his brother. "He's smart, and funny, and  _nice._ And you guys could probably be really good friends and nerd out together all day long if you'd just give him a chance."

"I didn't know he was that important to you," Don replied, kind of soft in a way that carried through the small space of the car. Mikey glanced over at him, but his brother's eyes were fixed on the windshield. He turned into the gated lot behind their apartment building and parked the car, mouth drawn into a long, unhappy line. They just sat there, in the dim of the car together for what felt like forever, and then he continued, "It's no wonder why you won't talk to me."

"I'm  _not_  not talking to you," Mikey contested, his guard gone down a little at all the sad contrition in his brother's voice. "I told you, it only happened today, and it was out of nowhere, and then Hob and Woody kidnapped me. I didn't even have time to get my jacket." He flapped his long sleeves, and Don's eyes traced them silently. "After that I was kinda- well, sorta freaked out _,_ and I didn't want to go home and be alone, so I went to L's house."

"You're not really making me feel better about this thing that happened," Don interjected quietly, and the worry was so clear in his eyes that it made Mikey feel bad, like an arrow shooting straight through all his determined irritation and not-hurt feelings. He shuffled his feet and picked at the strap of his bag, trying to hold onto his totally justified annoyance. It was hard, though. "Are you okay?"

" _Yeah_ , bro, I'm okay. And I'll tell you all about it, I swear. But- if I do," he said, and it sounded sort of pleading when he really wanted it to sound solid, "will you  _please_  tell me what's going on with you? You can't really hate LH, can you? Not without even knowing him, right?"

Don reached over and put a hand on his hair, almost tentatively. Mikey leaned into his hand, and it made half the heavy lines in Don's face go away.

"I'll tell you what's going on with me if you tell me what's been going on with you," he said, with just a hint of his own special brand of dry humor. He was still worried, obviously, and Mikey thought he'd hurt his feelings just a little bit; but he was offering a compromise, at least, and he let the deal hang in the air between them like an outstretched hand.

Mikey was still confused, and frustrated, and a little bit mad, but it still only took him a few seconds to make up his mind. He nodded firmly, and said, "You first."


	30. Team Meeting - Part 5

Mikey had eaten already, but Donnie hadn't. And Donnie probably wouldn't remember to, either—he had that faraway look in his eye that meant he wouldn't eat unless Mikey actually physically put a plate a food in front of him. He did that, skipped meals right and left like that even for all his preaching lately, but he'd  _always_  been that way. He just got too lost in that big brain of his sometimes.

So Mikey dumped his bag on the floor as Don locked the door behind them, and rolled up the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie.

"How's a Hawaiian grilled cheese sound?" he asked without preamble, flipping on the kitchen light. Don paused in shrugging off his long pea coat just long enough to smile at him gratefully.

"That'd be great, Mikey, thanks."

 _Ugh._ Mikey made a face as he yanked open the fridge with maybe a little more force than was necessary.  _Why are my brothers such hard guys to stay peeved at?_

Especially Donnie. Donnie was the worst. And just then, Donnie was doing that thing he did when he thought he was in trouble—the way his eyes skirted Mikey's by a few inches, how he tilted his head and curled his shoulders to make himself a little smaller, staring intently at his hands as he unloaded his bookbag and its piles and piles of homework onto the kitchen table, like it was the only safe place to look—and it made Mikey feel  _bad._

He nudged the fridge door shut with the heel of his foot, arms loaded with butter, deli ham and sliced mozzarella, and said, "You know I'm not  _mad_ at you, right, D?"

There was a pause in the rustling of papers behind him. Mikey had time to retrieve a skillet from the dish rack and a butter knife from the cutlery drawer before Don finally answered.

"It's okay if you are. I haven't been very fair."

"I know it's okay," Mikey agreed easily, flipping on a burner and plopping a fat square of butter on the bottom of the pan to grease the bottom as it heated up. Turning away from the stove briefly, he opened their tiny pantry door and started digging for the can of sliced pineapple he was pretty sure they had somewhere, leftover from the upside-down cake he made for April's birthday earlier that year.  _Aha,_ there it was—tucked behind approximately a hundred cans of green beans. Why so many green beans? "But I'm sayin' I'm not," he continued. "I'm just, like,  _super_  annoyed at you is all. So don't—do that thing you do."

Luckily, Don knew what thing Mikey meant—Raph hated it, too, and he didn't exactly keep it a secret;  _"makes me feel like I just kicked a damn puppy,"_ he'd grumble, always while caving in absolutely, one hundred percent, to Don's sad brown eyes—and flushed. Then sort of forgot how to person for as long as it took him to rearrange his body language, mumbling, "Sorry."

He never  _meant_  to do the thing, and Mikey had decided a long time ago that if there was ever any one thing in the world to feel grateful about, it was that Donnie couldn't harness that type of raw power at will.

And Don  _was_ sorry. He'd said as much already, in the car, and again on the way up the stairs, and that whole sad thing was an apology in and of itself, and Mikey really didn't have the kind of willpower he needed to stay ticked off at his brother  _anyway._

So he shook his head, and let the last of his bad mood fall away. The butter in the pan was beginning to sizzle and pop, and he started fishing pineapples slices out of the can with his fingers, with a smile for Don that Don couldn't see.

"How about I cook and you talk," he offered, talking at the stove instead of turning around. "This grilled cheese is gonna take a little while." Don did better without an audience, anyway. And sure enough, his big brother exhaled in relief, and sat down in one of the old, wheezing dining room chairs.

"Sure," Donnie said. "Though—I mean, it's sort of a long story, I guess. I'm not even sure where to start."

"The beginning, maybe?" Mikey suggested helpfully. He had enough going on at the stove to keep him busy—he didn't have to worry about his attention wandering, the way it sometimes did during lectures or dragging lessons. And Mikey  _wanted_ to hear whatever it was, he wanted to understand what was going on in his brother's big dumb genius brain. So he dropped three rings of pineapple in the hot pan, and added, "I've gotten really good at listening to long stories, D. I promise I won't bail in the middle of yours."

There was sort of a pause behind him. Maybe Don was getting all geared up. Mikey started buttering bread, while the sugary juices in the pan went to work with the melted butter, caramelizing into something golden brown and perfect. The kitchen started to smell sweet and smoky; the familiar mechanics of a long-time favorite recipe putting Mikey in a comfortable zone.

Then Don asked, a little abruptly, "How much do you remember from when we were younger? Before sensei took us in?"

The question was somehow as sudden as it was slow, and Mikey—well, okay, whatever Mikey had been expecting it wasn't  _that._ When he risked a glance back at his brother, Don's eyes were a little wide in the warm light of the kitchen, but his hands were folded calmly and his mouth was set.

They didn't usually talk about those days, just because there wasn't really much to say. And maybe also, a little bit, because Leo didn't like bringing it up.

But Leo wasn't there. So Mikey heaved a mental shrug, and answered aloud, "I don't remember much. Bits and pieces, I guess."

"Like what?" Don pressed, and Mikey blinked.

"Like…I dunno, stuff that doesn't make sense. Fragments, I guess. A street we used to play on, and—a blue apartment," he added uncertainly, "like a loft, I think? It had a big window, with long yellow curtains."

Donnie was staring at him intently, stark surprise touching all the corners of his eyes, and the curve of his open mouth.

"You remember that apartment?"

"Not really," Mikey said uncomfortably. "Just the big window. Was it ours? Before sensei?"

"It was ours before a lot of things," Don said quietly, and then the wide surprise on his face was replaced by a much more familiar smile. "Sorry for getting off track. So you remember a street, and our old apartment—that's amazing, by the way—but nothing else?" His eyes tracked over Mikey's shoulder for a second. "Pineapple."

Pineapple? What was that supposed to be, some secret codeword, or— _oh!_ Mikey spun to snatch the skillet off the burner in one fluid move, tipping the salvaged fruits onto a little dish. He poked them around with the spatula, and heaved a relieved sigh. "Safe," he announced, warmed by Don's amused grin, and put the skillet back down. He added some more butter to the bottom, without bothering to clean the pineapple juices out first; it would make the sandwich bread taste sweet. Giving the butter a moment to heat up and melt, he considered Don's question.

"I remember going to Mr. Murakami's a lot, and he'd give me those little fish-shaped cakes." He used to love those things. He  _still_  loved those things. "And Casey used to come visit us, and he would always stand up for you and Spike when someone hurt your feelings. Raph really liked him for tha—"

"You remember Spike?"

Don's voice practically exploded in the quiet room, and Mikey winced. Seriously reevaluating himself, right about now, because keeping his brothers in the dark about the Boogeyman slash Spike was probably the worst decision he'd made in his entire next-to-fifteen years alive on this planet. It just kept creating problems, right and left, and if he had just looked Leo in the face that night after the soccer game and  _told him_ what happened _—_ if he had told Raph and Don the  _truth_  instead of skirting it for so long _—_ then he wouldn't be where he was now, torn between laughing out loud and just sort of withering away in guilt, with the footprint of an awful argument still fading between him and his brother.

Don was supposed to be the guilty party, here—he'd been unfair, and rude to Leatherhead, and lashing out coldly about stuff he didn't understand. But maybe, really, that was sort of Mikey's fault, too.

"Mikey," Don prompted, when too many minutes had gone quietly by. Mikey nodded at his hands.

"Sorry, D. Yeah, I remember Spike."

He dropped a piece of bread into the skillet, buttered side down. Don didn't say anything as he opened the bag of cheese, then the ham; he was cutting the rings of pineapple into halves when his brother finally asked, "What do you remember about him from back then?"

"Not a lot," Mikey answered honestly. Don and Leo liked more fruit, where Raph and April liked more cheese, so he added a second layer of pineapple over the ham and mozzarella. "I remember he seemed kinda sick all the time, and kinda lonely. He was nice, though. We played together. And Raph was really upset when he disappeared."

"It's really interesting how the mind works," Don said slowly, sounding a little like he was talking from far away. Mikey flipped the sandwich over to cook on the opposite side, and glanced at him. "Separate individuals can sometimes remember the same events so  _differently_. And you were really little at the time, too…" He hesitated for a split second, like he was trying to find the words. "Mikey, Spike didn't  _disappear_. He hurt Leo, and sensei sent him away."

Wait…

Say  _what?_

He must have looked every bit as stunned as he felt, because Don's expression gentled.

"It all happened really fast. I had never seen anything like it, it was like—Spike became something  _else,_ like he had changed overnight into some terrible stranger. You and Raph were at home, Leo and I had gone to Murakami's to pick up dinner, and he was waiting for us there, and—" He shook his head, mouth twisted unhappily. "See, Leo didn't like him. Leo told Raph probably a dozen times that Spike was off-limits. And it really upset Raph, so I fought Leo on it every time it came up. I never understood how he could see any evil in such a harmless little kid—"

Mikey had enough good sense to reach behind him and turn off the stove. The sandwich would finish cooking by the residual heat of the skillet, and Mikey's brain was free to explode from this influx of new information  _without_  the background concern of their apartment burning down.

"Spike broke Leo's  _arm_ ," Don continued, voice a whisper. "Murakami heard the commotion, and he and the busboy came running out, and Spike took off. Leo wouldn't go to a hospital, or even  _look_ at me, so I panicked and called sensei. And sensei was at work but he dropped everything and came for us right away. He took Leo to a private clinic for his arm, and paid for everything out of pocket, and the next time Spike came around, sensei was there to make him leave. We went to live with sensei a little while after that, and never saw Spike again."

And maybe Mikey  _could_  remember it, now—Leo, in a coat way too big for him, reaching down for Mikey with one arm instead of two, sensei beside him, Donnie with puffy red eyes and a pale face, Raph's sick-sore voice hoarse and loud with worry—

"Oh my  _god,"_ he said faintly, and Don's head dipped once with his nod.

"Leo didn't blame me," he continued quietly, "not even a little, but I felt so  _bad_. I fought him  _constantly_  for Spike's sake, I thought he was being unfair to Raph, trying to take away his friend, and Leo got  _hurt_ because I was so dead wrong. I bought what Spike was selling—I believed in what he told me, and the act he put on for all of us—and Leo paid for it."

Mikey gravitated towards the kitchen table, torn between fascinated horror and honest heartbreak at the nine-year-old shadows in Don's eyes.

"Donnie—"

"And then Bradford left flowers in your locker."

Mikey froze, and Don ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"It was a  _trap,_ and you—you see good in everyone, you never hold a grudge. And I admire that about you, truly. But Bradford, he wanted to take  _advantage_  of that. He left you flowers, and then you  _left_  with him, and—Mikey, I've neverbeen so scared." Listening to him, Mikey could believe it. He sank into the chair next to Don's, and when he tentatively put out a hand, Don clasped it tightly in one of his. "Then Leo brought you home, and you were—"

"I was okay," Mikey interjected earnestly, trying to catch Donnie's eye. "Donnie, really. Raph's come home before looking  _way_  worse than I did that night."

"That's not the  _point,"_ Don said vehemently, finally looking him in the face. "You were  _hurt._ And I know Lamar—Leatherhead—isn't the one who hurt you—I  _know—_ but I can't help… I couldn't help thinking it was all some sort of elaborate trick, just like the last time, with what happened to Leo. I didn't want to make the mistake of trusting in the wrong person again. Even after Leatherhead was nothing but kind to you, I just couldn't—"

"D, it's okay," Mikey said, and he meant it. He scooted his chair over, until he was close enough to Don that he could attach himself to Don's person; wormed his way under Don's arm, wrapping his brother up in a hug and  _squeezing_  as tight as he could. Trying to impress upon him that it was  _okay,_ with actions and words both. "LH will understand. LH  _does_ understand. He has your number, dude, he told me ages ago that he thought it was probably something like this. I  _promise_  it's okay."

It took a minute longer than it should have, but then Don's arms were closed around him in turn, and his cheek came to rest on the top of Mikey's head.

"I'll apologize to him next time," he said quietly, and Mikey turned his face into Don's shoulder, a warm, grateful glow in the pit of his stomach. "And I'm sorry we never told you about Spike. You were just so  _little,_  you wouldn't have—"

"No, I get it," Mikey said, sort of muffled. Don hugged him a little tighter.

"If we would just tell you everything from the start, there wouldn't be room for all these awful misunderstandings," his brother muttered, more to himself than to Mikey. "You wouldn't have run away that night and had that panic attack, you wouldn't have kept that creep that scared you a secret from us. You just haven't felt like you could talk to us, and that's  _our_ fault, not yours. We always keep you in the dark, it makes sense that you'd start feeling that way sooner or later."

That didn't seem fair. Mikey generally seemed to make nothing but terrible decisions even without his brother's help, how was that  _their_  fault? He might have argued the point, any other night, but for now he just leaned closer to Don and started the seemingly impossible undertaking of working through all the new things he'd learned.

So. Spike.

The dude was crazy even back  _then._ He knew that Leo had broken his arm once, but he hadn't ever known  _how._ And Raph had been so worried about Leo after that, for whole  _weeks_ after that, why would he have looked so happy to see Spike earlier if—

Oh.

"You never told Raph about what Spike did, huh?" he asked softly, and Don went still.

"…No, we didn't. Regardless of what I thought before the incident, Leo really didn't want to cost Raph a friend." Donnie paused, then added, "How did you guess that?"

Mikey took a deep breath and let it go with a sigh. "'Cause Raph seemed really happy to see him today," he said, with some dry good humor. "And I don't think he woulda been, if he knew Spike's the one who hurt Leo's arm."

Donnie didn't answer for what felt like years. The turtle clock above the sink was ticking patiently, and Mikey was counting the seconds with it. Raph would probably be getting home soon. And the sandwich on the stove was probably stone-cold by now, Mikey would have to heat it up before—

"I think," his brother finally said,  _way_ too calmly for Mikey's peace of mind, as his hand closed on Mikey's arm like a shackle, "I'm going to need you to explain that a bit more concisely."

Mikey nodded. Rolled the sleeves of LH's hoodie back down his arms, pulling the cuffs up and over his fingers. Not as afraid as he had been before, and he had his friends to thank for that.

"Okay," he said doggedly, meeting Don's eyes, "here's what happened."


	31. Team Meeting - Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize to all of you for the recent delay between chapters. I know you've had to wait longer than you're used to, and I'm very sorry for that; real life has been a lot lately. But you've all been waiting patiently, and that you're still here at all, reading this, means the world to me.
> 
> I would like to take a moment to point out that, occasionally, I will write something that isn't a TMNT story. I'm not a one-fandom author, and one quick glance at the top of my bio will prove as much. The creative juices don't flow in a straight line, and as much as I may be totally and completely one-hundred percent stuck on the new chapter of Problem Child, at the same time it could be the easiest thing in the world to write a drabble somewhere else. That does not mean I've abandoned this fandom, or that I've orphaned this story. I have no intention of doing either. I love this AU, and I love these characters, and I love sharing it with you! I wish I could produce chapters as quickly as you'd like to read them, but I just can't at this point.
> 
> I'll try to work harder in my free time to get updates to all of you faster—at the very least, I'm going to try never to make you wait months between, like you had to this time. Some chapters (like this one) might suffer the unfortunate effects of literally sloughing through a waist-deep, tar-like Writer's Block, but you'll have them.
> 
> Thank you again, so much, for sticking it out with me this long, through the thick and thin—and happy holidays! See you all again in the new year. (:

It was like ten o'clock at night, and Donnie was on his sixth mug of coffee. Mikey was watching in awe, chin propped up on his arms where they folded on the table, and only glanced away at the sound of a key in the lock.

"'m back," Raph said by way of greeting as he came inside, tossing his keys vaguely toward the couch and kicking the door shut behind him. He found his little brothers in the kitchen with a quick flick of bright eyes, and made his way over in unhurried strides, shrugging out of his bomber jacket. "What are you two up to?"

"Donnie's drinking engine oil," Mikey replied right away. "He stopped using creamer like four cups ago, this is crazy."

Their coffee maker was pretty famous for being terrible at its job. Anything that came out of that percolator could not be trusted at face-value; all coffee required a  _serious_ face-lift in order to be  _close_ to drinkable. Yet there Don was, ingesting practically the whole pot, black. He was probably a superhero.

"Woah, that better be decaf," Raph said with a scowl, dropping his jacket in an empty chair. Donnie didn't roll his eyes, but it looked like a pretty close thing.

"We don't  _buy_ decaf."

"It's  _late,_ Don."

"It's Friday," Mikey interjected helpfully, and grinned at the dirty look Raph shot him. "What, it's not like Don sleeps on the weekends anyway. Plus he's—kinda stressed out a little? He needs his coffee." He reached over and patted Don's arm sympathetically, reveling in the unamused deadpan he got for his trouble.

"Stressed, huh?" Understanding yawned wide in Raphael's expression, and he leaned his elbows on the back of the chair. "Guess that means the two of you have talked."

Don's answer was to knock back the rest of his mug like it was a stiff drink, so Mikey shot Raph a smile and a thumbs up. He snorted, but Mikey was a pro at reading the tiny nuances of Raph's expression by now (he had like 97% accuracy rate, which was a whole lot more than anyone  _else_  could say about his recalcitrant big bro), and he could tell Raph was pleased with him—he even proved it a moment later, reaching over and ruffling Mikey's hair, flopping a few curls into his face.

"Proud of you, kid." And then his hand shifted, moving lower to cup Mikey's chin gently. "You doing okay?"

And it made sense for him to look worried, even though they'd talked on the phone. The last time Raph saw Mikey for himself was the school parking lot. And that was only a handful of hours ago, but it felt like  _days._

"I'm okay," Mikey affirmed, warmed by Raph's praise and the familiar care in his green eyes. "Want a grilled cheese?"

"Nah, Al split dinner with me," Raph said, straightening with a wince of tired muscles. "I'm gonna grab a shower, then when Leo gets home, we all oughta talk," he continued, with a look at Don that encompassed him solidly, just in case their resident genius had any grand ideas about retreating to his cave beforehand. Don just nodded, leaning to one side to reach with a long arm for the coffee pot on the counter, but Mikey's face fell.

"Actually, I was gonna go to bed," he said, slowly. They both looked at him, and he held up his hands. "But I can stay up if you want! Don's gonna have to share some of that rocket fuel, though."

"Aw, Mikey—after the day  _you_ had, you must be exhausted," Don said, his brow wrinkling. He sat up straight, scanning Mikey's face carefully for—heck, signs of distress, probably. "We're still working on your sleeping pattern, anyway. That means no more late nights for awhile, not even on the weekends.  _We'll_ talk to Leo, you get some rest."

"You sure? He'd probably want to hear it from me, right?" Mikey's shoulders slumped, his good cheer fading a little. "He always says we oughta own up to our own mistakes, and this whole thing is—"

"Not your fault." Raph gave him a Look, all folded heat and sharp edges—something that was edging toward truly ticked off, but not quite there yet. "The only thing you did wrong was keepin' Spike a secret the first time, and you made up for that by tellin' us when you did."

Don darted a quick glance at Raph at the mention of Spike's name, looking conflicted; Don didn't like secrets—hated them, even—but it seemed like he was always the one getting cornered into keeping them. If it were up to  _Donnie_ , Raph would know what Slash did to Leo all those years ago. He wouldn't have greeted him so warmly when he saw him earlier; he  _definitely_ wouldn't have let the guy go near Mikey,  _that_  was for sure.

Mikey frowned at the scuffed tabletop. Come to think of it… It didn't really make sense for Slash to visit Raph the way he did. How was he so sure Mikey didn't tell his brothers all about the creepy guy he met on the soccer field? How could he be certain Donnie and Leo didn't tell Raph about what he did when they were younger? How did he  _know_  that Raph would greet him like a long-lost friend, given all the years between them and all the crazy stuff he'd done?

A hand on his arm pulled his thoughts back, and he glanced up into Don's stern brown eyes.

"Bed," he said firmly, with a nod down the hall. "We'll take it from here."

And Mikey considered that, as he slipped into his room and toed the door shut behind him. Mikey's brothers always took care of him, in big ways and small ones, every single day. Even when they were totally at odds with each other, even when Mikey was keeping secrets and making himself sick. And there was no doubt in his mind that his family was going to come up with some sort of solution or plan that night, and it was probably going to be an awesome one, and Mikey couldn't wait to hear it in the morning, really!

But...what kind of a Hamato would he be, if he didn't at least  _try_ to fix his own mistakes?

He dropped into the overstuffed beanbag in the corner and pulled out his phone. Found Bradford's number in his contacts, tapped open a new text—

_hey, brad. sorry I missed you today. wanna meet somewhere tomorrow?_

—and hit "send" before he had a chance to think twice about it. Down the hall, he could hear his brother's talking; a low, indistinct hum of conversation, their voices mild and familiar even muted as they were by the walls. Mikey listened to them without really listening, feeling the full weight of the day start to sag into his bones—man, he really  _was_ tired… it probably wouldn't be hard to fall asleep in the beanbag chair, he'd slept in weirder places before…

His phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down.

_Where?_

He grinned. He  _loved_ when a plan fell together like it was meant to be. He spent the next small pocket of time texting Bradford back and forth, while sounds of T.V. filled the living room and the shower started running with a faraway pang of the hot water heater, and it wasn't long until they had a tentative strategy hammered out.

 _see you then,_  he sent, and then tilted his head back, tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling with his eyes. His room was dark enough that they were pretty bright, and between the sounds of his brothers, and the distant ambient noise of traffic outside his bedroom window, it was the perfect recipe for a pretty heavy sleep.

So he tossed his phone up onto his top bunk, and changed into pajamas—taking the time to sort of fold LH's hoodie on top of the dresser, making sure at the very least that it was a semi-respectable lump—then crawled into bed. Rooted around through the pillows to trace the cord of his phone charger down to it's business end, and plugged in for the night.

His brothers would talk to Leo tonight, and then they'd want to talk to him in the morning. It would probably be a pretty long talk, too. Discussions like these could become all-day affairs; their tiny clan had a fondness for closeness, they tended to gravitate towards home, and maintain some sort of proximity to each other after something big or bad or stressful, and Mikey  _loved_ that about his family.

It just meant he'd need to sneak out pretty early, if he wanted to have any chance of meeting Bradford tomorrow.

It was pushing eleven when he messaged Hob, but he didn't have to wait longer than a handful of seconds to get a reply:

_remember how i promised to tell u before i did something stupid?_

_God dammit Goldie._

* * *

On one hand, what Mikey was doing was really stupid. If his brothers found him out—via an empty bunk and no Mikey on the premises—then they were going to get stressed out and worried and _annoyed,_ and the okayness he'd found with Don and Raph was going to shatter into a hundred thousand pieces and be a lot harder to find a second time, and Leo would probably be  _disappointed_.

On the other hand, it was like five o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, and no one in his family was likely to be up for another six hours. That was plenty of wiggle room. And he was even leaving a note!  _If_ one of his brothers  _happened_ to get up way uncharacteristically early and come looking for him in particular, they would find an orange post-it note stuck to the railing of his bed.

" _went out with Hob, call me!"_

That way—no matter when they called—he could say "I've only been gone for like five minutes, jeez," and "I'm on my way home now!" Totally brilliant. Eat your heart out, Donatello, there's a new genius in town.

Hob had sent a text a few minutes ago to let Mikey know he was waiting in the truck, and that meant all Mikey had to do now was get out of the apartment. But that was going to be totally easy, because he had a Great Plan.

"I've seen Raph do this like a hundred times," Mikey whispered to himself, as he eased his bedroom window open. "It can't be  _that_ hard."

Almost immediately, a winter chill stole into the room, and his breath misted like a cloud, fogging against the frosted pane. Raph shifted a little in bed, dragging his comforter tighter around his shoulders, and Mikey froze like a cat-burglar caught in the act. The longer he stood with the window open, the colder the room would get, so when Raph didn't stir again after a few seconds, Mikey slid out onto the fire escape as quickly as he could without making a sound, and eased the window closed behind him.

 _Nailed_  it. He stood there feeling victorious for a moment, before it occurred to him that he was standing on a really rusted,  _really old_ metallic deathtrap, five stories above the unforgiving asphalt, and the grin slid off his face like slippery soap.

Okay. Technically he was out of the house, so… this was the easy part, right?

He took the stairs carefully—they were a little icy, and a lot loud, and he really didn't want to add "ticking off every neighbor" to his list of potential offenses this morning. Even so, as cautious as he was, he still slipped like three times, and at one point, on the last flight, his sneaker skated right off a step and he went airborne; landing on his butt four steps down, with a loud  _thump_ and a disconcerting screech and shudder of the entire system. He didn't waste time in kicking down the ladder from the first floor landing to the ground, wincing at the magnitude of the sound as it echoed through the alley. When it crashed to its full length, Mikey climbed down as quickly as cold feet and numbed fingers would allow.

He jumped the last foot or so to the ground, and landed with a little wobble.  _Phew_ … he was alive.

"I did it!" he whisper-shouted to the crisp morning, pumping his arms up overhead in triumph. He took a step back to gaze up at how far he'd come, whistling low under his breath. How had Raph managed it as frequently as he had without ever getting caught? " _Major_ props to you, bro."

It was still winter-dark this early in the morning, and Mikey trotted to the street with his hands shoved as deep into his pockets as they'd go, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He probably looked like some weird, ungainly bird, with how he curled against the cold and trotted stiffly out to the street side, but it's not like any sensible person was awake at this hour to watch him.

Hob's truck was parked by the curb; he'd left the engine running, Mikey could hear the throaty rumble from the back of the alley, which meant it would be  _warm_ inside. Beaming, Mikey picked up the pace, and waved widely when Hob glanced at him from the driver's side window.

"I made it out," he said cheerfully, as his friend cranked the window down a few more inches to hear him better. Why was his window even down in the first place? It was  _Antarctica_ outside. "That wasn't so bad! Well, I mean, okay, it was probably the most terrifying thing I've ever done, don't get me wrong—but besides the near-death experience it was pretty rad! I'm basically a ninja."

Hob had a peculiar expression on his face, somehow managing to come across both apologetic and amused. And he didn't seem in any hurry to leave, turned sideways behind the wheel to fold his arms in the open window of the door, chin propped in one hand. Mikey slowed, then stopped, looking at him oddly.

"Okay, what's up?  _You're_  the one who said to be on time, so why do you look like we aren't goin' anywhere?"

"That's a good question, Mikey," came a very familiar and very unmistakable voice from behind him. "And the answer is a lot closer to home than you might think."

Mikey went absolutely still, every joint and muscle locking into place like there was a  _T-Rex_ behind him and his life absolutely hinged upon keeping still. He locked wide eyes on Hob's face—begging him silently  _please tell me that's not Leo,_ and the downward turn to his c aptain's mouth was all the answer he needed.

_The jig is up._

His shoulders slumped, and he turned around to face the music. Leo was sitting on the front steps of the apartment building, in the paint-stained sweatpants and too-big T-shirt he wore to bed, and Raph's jacket in deference to the cold. He was looking at Mikey with unreadable blue eyes, face a careful neutral, and pushed himself to his feet with a heckton of grace for a five a.m. stakeout.

"Honestly, I've lived with Raph for eighteen years. You really think I haven't learned what escape-by-fire-escape sounds like by now?" His tone was—not angry. Mikey blinked at him, hardly daring to believe he wasn't in whole worlds of trouble, and his expression made something in Leo's go gentle. His big brother shook his head a little, and let a touch of rueful exasperation replace the mask of dispassion on his face, only sort of smiling. "Sometimes, it's easy to forget you're a teenager. You're nowhere near as difficult as the rest of us were. I should probably consider myself lucky this is only the first time you've tried sneaking out, huh?"

"You're not mad?" Mikey asked in wonder. Leo looked tired, and half-amused, and totally fond as he lifted a hand to smooth down a few of Mikey's errant curls. A late night at work combined with a ridiculously early morning would have been the perfect recipe for a black mood for anyone else; but Leo was Leo, and he had a bottomless well of patience for his family, and a relentlessly kind attitude, and he could stand there on the sidewalk in the dark of morning in November and make light of the whole thing.

Mikey was beginning to think there was a certain underlying superpower in being the baby of the family, because he was absolutely certain all of Raph's sneak-outs had been accompanied by raised voices and long lectures, not hair ruffles.

"I'm not mad," Leo said, reaffirming the idea. "I wish you would have told one of us where you need to go that's so important, but I understand. We've been a little overbearing lately, and you're used to more freedom than you've had these past few weeks. You're almost fifteen years old—you want your space sometimes, huh?"

He sounded so wistful it made Mikey sad. Leo didn't have anything but his brothers, and he seemed to think there was somehow a possibility they might grow out of him. Mikey wasn't sure what Leo would do if he didn't have them to take care of anymore, and from the looks of it, Leo wasn't sure either.

Freedom wasn't as important as family, Mikey decided, and surged forward; burying his face in Leo's shirt and wrapping octopus arms around his waist, clinging for all he was worth. It took his brother a surprised .02 seconds to hug him back.

"I meant to be home before anyone woke up. I just—wanted to fix everything. Donnie told me about what Slash did to you back then," he muffled, squeezing a little closer. Leo went still in surprise, arms tightening around Mikey's shoulders. "I want to make everything better, so you don't get hurt again."

Mikey couldn't imagine ever on-purpose hurting Leonardo; he thought it broke Raph's heart in a quiet, secret way every time he and Leo fought, and he knew Don regretted every single harsh word he might have shared with their big brother in some fit of sleep-deprived temper. Leo gave so much, and didn't get much in return, and it  _killed_ Mikey to think that, on top of everything else, Leo had to doubt sometimes how much they loved him.

"Mikey—"

"It's  _my_  fault Slash is back in our lives now, no matter what Raph says. And… I just wanted to try and make things better on my  _own,_ for a change. If I can clean up my own mess, then you won't have to worry about me as much anymore. You can—you know, trust me. To do the right thing. You won't have to constantly be afraid I'm screwing up and getting into trouble."

"First of all," Leo said firmly, pulling back enough that he could take Mikey's shoulders in both hands, stooping so he could look him right in the eye. "I  _do_ trust you. I trust you _absolutely,_ in the same way I trust Donnie, Raph, Casey and April. You're such a  _good_   _kid_ , it's—frankly, it's unbelievable, Mikey. I don't know where we went right with you, but I'm so glad we did _."_ He let a smile soften the stern expression on his face. "And every time you get into trouble, I know it's only because you're trying to do the right thing, despite all the warning signs that you shouldn't. I'm proud of you for that, little brother; we all are. And I think father would be, too."

It was praise Mikey wasn't exactly expecting, but it filled his heart with something buoyant and bubbly, and he couldn't help the beaming grin that threatened to split his face in two. Leo didn't usually bring up sensei without a little poking and prodding, but he  _did_  just then, all on his own; and he thought sensei would be  _proud,_ and it looked like it didn't even hurt him to say it, the way it usually hurt him to talk about their dad.

"You mean it?"

"I do." He straightened up, and ran a fond hand through Mikey's hair. "Keep doing what you think is the right thing to do, okay? And we'll help you clean up whatever mess the right thing makes. What else is family for?"

Mikey nodded, grinning, and said, "Probably no more sneaking out though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Leo agreed right away. "Absolutely. And I probably would be a lot less okay with this whole situation if you were going with anyone other than Hob or Leatherhead, honestly."

"Probably cause he knows we'd both be willin' to do somethin' for ya that might get us arrested," Hob put in dryly from where he sat in the car, and Leo chuckled with the same warm fondness he extended to all the friends of his family. Mikey gave his arm a pat.

"You should go try to get some sleep, bro. You probably only got home a few hours ago."

"You're one to talk," Leo said mildly, but he gave Mikey a parting nudge with his shoulder anyway. "You better be home when I wake up."

"And I'll even make you breakfast tacos."

"Deal."

Mikey climbed into Hob's truck, feeling light-hearted. Leo waved from the front door, then slipped back inside the apartment building, and Mikey tugged his seatbelt. Hob put his truck in drive and pulled back onto the street, shaking his head all the while.

"Damn, Gold. He'd let you get away with murder."

"He's not the only one, huh?" Mikey said coyly, elbowing Hob's arm. "Would you  _really_ get arrested for me, Hobby? That's so  _sweet—"_

"Arrested for throwing your dumb ass off a bridge, maybe," Hob said coldly—not exactly denying Mikey's tease, or retracting the statement he'd made before. "Wanna tell me why the hell we're meeting Bradford at five-thirty in the morning at a freakin' noodle café? What about this scenario makes any kind of sense?"

Mikey settled back in his seat, and smiled out the windshield at the bright city. "It makes  _perfect_ sense, dude. We're finally gonna get to the bottom of all this,  _and_  we're gonna get noodles. It's totally a win-win situation."

Hob rolled his eyes hard, but he didn't offer any argument. And it sorta said a lot in and of itself that he was willing to be a part of Mikey's plans in the first place, especially when they involved being alive this early in the morning and talking to a person Hob very decidedly Did Not Like.

Hob didn't  _have_ to be there, but he was. And he even drove the speed limit, this time, and obeyed most of the basic traffic laws, so Mikey  _didn't_ spend the entirety of the car ride gripped by mortal terror. What a great guy.

* * *

The twenty-four hour café was well-lit and totally empty, the only car in the parking lot probably being that of the unlucky night-shift employee, and Mikey hopped out of the truck while Hob killed the engine, and led the way inside.

It was a pretty small place; there was a counter at the front lined with stools, a handful of booths alongside the adjacent wall, and a few round tables scattered in between. The guy at the counter had plenty of energy and a killer smile for such a late shift, and took Mikey's order for chow mein pretty cheerfully, while Hob stood to one side looking disgusted at the idea of Chinese food for breakfast. They grabbed sodas from the cooler and picked a table, peeling off their coats in deference to the well-heated restaurant.

"Your boy better show," Hob griped, and it was Mikey's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm just saying, if he doesn't, an' I got up this early for a whole lot of nothing—"

"You didn't  _have_ to come," Mikey said for easily the hundredth time. "I told you I was just gonna take the bus. I have a metro card for a  _reason."_

"Yeah, reason being "a whole lot of trouble." I can't _believe_ you think this is a good idea."

"Where else am I supposed to get answers, huh?" Mikey jabbed a finger at his captain with a sour expression. "And you better be nice. Don't provoke him. This is supposed to be a neutral, cordial five a.m. meeting between friends."

Hob looked like he was gonna bust a blood vessel when Mikey dropped the word 'friend,' but at that point, the bell above the door signaled new customers, and really, who else would it be?

Mikey turned around in his chair with an automatic smile, raising a hand in greeting; but then he caught sight of Bradford and his good cheer fell to dust, his hand freezing halfway through its wave.

He'd been hurt. There was a bandage across the lower left side of his jaw, and a vivid, puffy black eye to match it on the same side, and he walked stiffly across the café towards them, in a way that made it clear his whole body felt pretty sore. Someone walked with him, a boy Mikey had only seen a few times in passing but recognized right away as Xever Montes, Bradford's best friend. He was tall, long limbs and loose grace, sauntering like a cat beside Bradford's heavy build and solid muscle, and he sized up Mikey and Hob with something not quite unpleasant in his eyes.

Bradford stopped beside the table, and Mikey stared up at him—unable to help feeling sorry for him, and  _worried,_ in the pit of his stomach, for this person who was only barely his friend. He patted the table, in front of one of the empty seats, and Hob scooted the other chair out with his foot. Xever took it with a nod of thanks, and Bradford only hesitated another minute before sitting down beside Mikey.

"What happened to you, Brad?" Mikey asked quietly; knowing already, intuitively, that the answer wasn't going to be one he was ready for.

And, sure enough,

"My brother happened," Bradford said, sounding tired. "Hun's got his own ideas who I should be friends with, and unfortunately, your name didn't make that list."


	32. Team Meeting - Part 7

His _brother?_

The thought was too big to keep inside his head—it pushed at all the squishy walls of Mikey's brain like a frantic, panic-induced migraine—and prompted him to blurt again, out loud, "Your _brother?"_

Only, accidentally, that was full-volume, and the poor noodle guy coming over with Mikey's chow mein jumped so badly at the sudden shouting in the tight quarters of the little café so early in the morning that he nearly dropped the tray. He didn't, he saved it after a quick mid-air scramble, but Mikey still felt bad, and Bradford looked a few shades shy of mortified.

"Sorry! Sorry," Mikey said to the room at large, waving his hands, while Xever stared at him and Hob directed an amused expression toward the ceiling instead of any awkwardly bumbling teammates that might have been nearby. "That was my bad. Thank you, noodle guy! And sorry, Brad, really."

"S'okay," he said, appearing more uncomfortable than anything else. "Just an accident."

Mikey fiddled with a pair of chopsticks from the receptacle on the table, a tight pressure in his chest. His stomach was doing its best to twist itself up into an ugly knot, and he _hated_ the way he automatically started thinking of Casey, because it wasn't the same thing, but…

But it kind of _was._ And this wasn't Bradford's _dad_ it was his _brother_. It would be like if _Leo_ had—

"And now you know," Xever said abruptly, like a mind-reader, "that not everyone's life's as perfect as yours is, eh?"

Bradford gave his friend a sharp, sideways look, and Mikey blinked at the sudden hostility—but it wasn't entirely out of nowhere. Xever was here for _Bradford's_ sake, just like Hob was here for Mikey's, and as far as Xever was concerned, in the totally understandable, unapologetic bias of a best friend, Mikey had seriously screwed with Bradford's life recently. And, maybe he deserved some of that anger, even. _He_ hadn't done anything to the guy, but his brothers had. Donnie had even _hit_ him.

And that just really didn't sit right with Mikey at all. It hadn't to begin with, but _now…_ given what Bradford's own brother had done to him... Mikey thought that maybe feeling as _guilty_ as he did was all the admission he needed that, yeah, he was probably at least partly to blame.

"And I think _you_ should know," Hob replied easily, before Mikey had any chance to, "that you don't know shit about whose life is perfect and whose ain't."

"Dude," Mikey said automatically, giving him the best disapproving look he could muster through his surprise. Hob wasn't exactly in the business of verbally leaping to Mikey's defense where Mikey could actually _see_ it. "I told you to be nice, like, three minutes ago."

"I am. I didn't punch him, did I?"

Okay, that was fair. Mikey turned to give the other two an apologetic shrug. Xever rolled his eyes, but miraculously kept quiet, and Bradford was looking strangely neutral about the whole thing, almost dispassionate behind that solid layer of bruises and broken skin. And since their friends had proven they couldn't be allowed to speak at this little meeting, Mikey took it upon himself to get the ball rolling; very carefully not looking at the map of _hurt_ Bradford's brother had left on him.

"So," he said, when he was a hundred and ten percent sure his voice wouldn't wobble. "Is it just you and him? Or do you have another brother or sister who's in charge?"

Bradford blinked, and even Xever's obvious irritation bled into something more honestly confused. "No, he's my only brother," Bradford replied slowly, making the answer sound like a question. "He's not, uh, 'in charge,' though. He doesn't even live at home anymore, he's twenty-six."

"Oh." That probably shouldn't have been as surprising as it was. "So you have parents?"

"Yeah? A mom and a stepdad." Bradford's brow was lowering over his eyes a little more with each of Mikey's questions, like he was coming to a conclusion he didn't expect or fully understand. "Why?"

"'Cause it would have been _severely_ jacked up if your brother was taking care of you and he still—" Mikey gestured vaguely at Bradford's face. "Y'know. I mean, it's still jacked up, but—y'know."

"Uh-huh," he said, in the tone of someone who only vaguely had any idea what Mikey was talking about. "Well, it didn't exactly endear him to anybody, if that's what you're worried about. Our parents are pissed." He sat back in his chair, looking about two seconds away from tilting his head to the side in the manner Mikey's brothers all did when they were working through something complicated or confusing, and added, "We're not really that close. My mom and his dad only married a few years ago."

"Yeah, that totally makes sense," Mikey said, well and truly out of his depth and trying not to show it. It didn't make sense at all; even Raph and Leo were close, and they fought each other on everything for _years_. He couldn't rightly imagine life without the ingrained intimacy of his little family, and honestly didn't want to think about one of his brothers—Donnie probably—moving away when they were old enough to, for work or school or a life of their own. "So, um—you said—he didn't want us to be friends? Is that why you, uh—fought?"

Bradford shared a quick look with Xever, and folded his arms on the table. "Nah, that—that had nothing to do with you. Not as much as you think. That day we met, I was talkin' to Xee about it on the phone, and—well, I didn't know Hun was home, or I'd have kept my mouth shut. See, my brother's got a… a bit of an ego."

"Understatement of the year," the Brazilian among them contributed without missing a beat. "The man's as proud as a peacock. _Cara de pau."_

Mikey didn't understand the last part, but he cottoned onto the sentiment no problem, and he was pretty sure it wasn't anything flattering if Xever's acidic tone was anything go by. Likewise, Bradford's mouth flattened, and he nodded once in heady agreement.

"He acted like I'd offended him somehow, letting your brothers get in my face. And he said I better take care of it, or he would. Honestly, it's—it's ridiculous. We're in high school, not Fight Club."

"So _that's_ why you wanted to hang out with me the next day," Mikey said, finally putting the pieces of this long-forgotten puzzle together. "To rough me up enough that your scary Dragon brother would leave me alone."

Xever's head snapped up sharply at that, from where he was disinterestedly pushing a packet of duck sauce around, and Bradford _stared._

"I…didn't know you knew about that," he said quietly, and Mikey just really honestly _felt_ for the guy, heart going out to him as easily as it ever had anyone else. His brother's reputation just kept making _trouble_ for him—first it almost cost him football, and now it was making what was supposed to be an easy, problem-solving conversation into something shirking and shameful.

"Yeah, we know about that," Hob said dryly, looking like the cat that caught the canary. He was probably just glad to have one-upped them, like it was a competition or a poker game. Ugh. Mikey was bringing LH next time. "Just tell me—how was _your_ hurtin' Goldie any better than your brother doin' it?"

" _Que isso_ , you're serious? We just established Chrissy's "scary Dragon brother" is _no good_ , and you ask how it could be any better? I promise you, had it been Hun, it would have certainly been worse." He whapped Bradford on the shoulder with the back of his hand, scowling. "This lump wasn't even going to _do_ anything to your little soccer star, he was just going to dump him at the YMCA with some of the kids he volunteers with. How he managed to screw even _that_ up—"

" _Xever—"_

"Well! You weren't!"

Mikey blinked, thoroughly surprised. Almost on autopilot, he pushed his cold noodles toward Hob, because his captain looked ready to say something smarmy again, and honestly at this point it would be better for his mouth to be otherwise occupied. Because Hob wasn't even _reaching_ for forgiveness, here, and Mikey…

Mikey wasn't sure Bradford needed forgiving at all.

"But the way it turned out, you still got hurt pretty badly," Bradford continued a moment later, and he really looked like he felt bad about the whole thing. "Helped get my brother off my case about it, with you looking like something the cat dragged home, but I never meant for all that to happen. And I bailed on you, which was—"

"Smart, probably, since those Dragon goons probably answer to your bro," Mikey finished for him thoughtfully. Man, this whole story was finally coming together in a way that just made _sense._ Bradford was a normal person trying to survive high school like all the rest of them were, while his brother dragged their name through the mud and made his life extra difficult on the side. Poor guy was due for a break. "Don't worry about it, that was my fault, anyway. I'm really sorry," he added. "That day, in Chinatown—I didn't know there was a big plan in the works, I thought you just wanted to hang out like you said. And when I saw the goons with the cat, I just barged right in. That was _my_ bad. Then everyone started giving you the third degree, even when I _told_ them you didn't do anything—and I did tell them, I swear! I can't believe Donnie hit you. I just…I really didn't mean to get you in trouble, dude."

"Mondo told me," Xever said, some of that steely anger in his eyes relenting. "He said you really went postal when they brought it up."

Hob snorted. "Yeah, that's putting it lightly. Didn't know you could fit a temper like that in a pint-sized kid like him."

Mikey looked at Bradford, as if to say 'do you see what I deal with,' and was surprised to see him grinning a little. And with that surprised feeling came the happy realization that Mikey wanted to be friends with this guy. Actual, honest friends. It was a pretty ill-timed self-discovery, especially considering what happened to Bradford's face the last time he had anything to do with Mikey, but it was there all the same, warming and kind.

His smile fading after a moment, Bradford added, "Look—I agreed to meet you here in part, to tell you—well, the thing I wanted to tell you at school yesterday. That guy that Raph was with, in the parking lot? He's a Dragon, he's bad news. I don't know if—"

"No, it's okay," Mikey said reassuringly, "I know him. Sort of. Did your brother sic him on me?"

"That's the thing, though, I really don't think he did?" Bradford looked more than a little surprised that he didn't have to explain the creepy turquoise-eyed dude, but he recovered pretty well. "Hun was gonna leave well enough alone after you got beat up—I guess those guys in the alley that day didn't report in, which is…kinda weird…"

"Oh, my friend beat them up. They probably didn't wanna tell the boss man they got their butts handed to 'em three on one," Mikey told him, sounding pretty smug even to his own ears. Leatherhead was so darn cool, Mikey wouldn't have changed the circumstances that brought LH into his life for the _world._ "But if Slash wasn't sent by—Hun, right?—because of the alley thing, then what's his deal? The only other thing I have to do with the Purple Dragons is you."

"Hun doesn't exactly let me in on all the intricacies of running a crime syndicate," Bradford said dryly, "but from what I know about that guy of his, he largely gets to do whatever he wants. So if he's got his eyes on you, it's probably something personal."

That was probably the least reassuring thing he'd ever heard. But it also a little bit made sense. It would have been incredibly dumb for Hun to expend the big guns on something as trivial as the Chinatown scuffle, and that was majorly why Mikey had been so _confused_ about the whole thing. But it being something more of a _personal_ matter, he could understand. Slash must have figured out Raph and his brothers were in the area after that alley showdown with Mikey and the Dragons, and decided to approach his old buddy on his own terms.

Mikey glanced up, feeling eyes on his face, to find the other three around the table staring at him. He blinked under the scrutiny, and grinned.

"Hey, no big. My brothers probably have a plan of action all cooked up already, and they'll know how to handle Slash a whole lot better than I do. I'm just glad I understand what the heck was going on!" Maybe it was all the stress of the last couple days finally catching up to him, as well as all the missed sleep, but Mikey couldn't find it in him to be very worried about Slash at this point. Not after Leatherhead, and Raph and Donnie, and Leo all reached out to him with their own individual illustrations of love and support. And Hob was here, now, and Bradford was mending bridges, and…

Everything felt okay. It wasn't _possible_ for Mikey to be any more okay than he was.

"And I guess the flowers in my locker were just to throw me off or something? 'Cause lemme tell you, dude, mission accomplished."

Hob and Bradford sat up at just about the same time, while Xever's face went suspiciously blank. After a moment of mutual staring, Hob said, "What flowers?"

"Uhh, the _huge_ bouquet Brad left in my locker? It had a card that said—"

"You _didn't_ ," Bradford said very quietly, and Xever suddenly looked like the ceiling tiles were the most interesting thing in the world. "I thought you were _joking."_

"Would I _ever_ joke about carnations?"

"Oh my god," Bradford said with feeling, and Mikey had to smother a laugh.

* * *

"Well, that was something," Hob said dryly, parking at the curb outside Mikey's apartment building. "Those two stooges deserve their own sitcom."

"I liked them, too," Mikey said agreeably, grinning at the way his captain's face soured at the indication he actually got along with the same guys he had decided to vehemently dislike. Clicking out of his seatbelt and popping open the door, he added, "And thanks again for coming with me. I felt a lot better with you around."

The sour look on Hob's face eased into something less painful-looking, and he gave Mikey a helpful shove out of the cab of his truck. "Whatever, kid. See you Monday. And get some damn sleep between now and then!"

Waving goodbye, Mikey started up the steps. It was light out by now, probably close to seven, and Mikey was tired down to his _bones._ He yawned probably half a dozen times on his way up the stairs, and pushed the front door of his apartment open with the full weight of his whole body, leaning into it sleepily and locking it behind him after a few blind swipes at the knob.

Slipping out of his shoes and shedding his coat like a second skin on his way across the small living room, Mikey curled up on the soft, sinking cushions of the lumpy monster couch with a sigh that took the last of the energy clean out of him.

He might have only been asleep for a minute or two—it certainly felt that way—before he was blinking awake again, and peering blearily up at one of his brothers where they leaned over him in the bright daylit room. At some point, someone had covered him with the warm blanket that lived on the back of the couch, but Raph was pulling it away now.

"Hey, Mikey," he was saying, his voice soft and urgent in equal parts as he shook Mikey gently by the shoulder. "Time to get up, kiddo. Here, put this on." And he was handed an armful of hoodie, then Raph was gone again. Well, that was weird. But he sat up on autopilot, too tired to come up with any reason why he shouldn't, and shoved his arms through the sleeves mechanically, pulling the hoodie over his head. It wasn't until he had it on that he realized it was Leatherhead's—Raph must have just grabbed it off the dresser, thinking it was Mikey's.

He started to tug it off again, but Raph was back a moment later, with Leo in tow.

"Keep it on, Mikey, it's cold outside," Leo said, and for someone who had probably gotten as much sleep as Mikey had or even less, he was bright-eyed and wide awake. He handed Mikey his jacket, from where he must have picked it up off the floor, and Raph tossed over his shoes. "You and Raph are heading over to April's house for the afternoon."

"How come?" Mikey asked slowly, pulling his Chucks on without unlacing them. Leo glanced away at the turtle clock in the kitchen, then back again.

"Because she misses you. She and Casey haven't seen much of you outside school, lately. I'd come, too, but Donnie and I have to stay here and do some paperwork. It'll be boring, so try and have an extra good time for us, okay?"

Mikey nodded, because Leo sounded right, and stood up tiredly. Leo waited until he'd pulled his jacket on over the hoodie, then pulled him into a hug.

"I know you're tired, buddy. April's gonna let you nap over there."

"Can I just stay home?" Mikey mumbled into Leo's shirt, and Leo's arms tightened around him.

"Not this time, Mikey. I'll see you tonight, okay? Be good."

Raph grabbed his arm the moment Leo let him go, and they exchanged looks over Mikey's head that were there and gone too fast for Mikey, in his state of only-barely-conscious, to have any hopes of deciphering. Then Raph was leading the way out the door, dragging Mikey behind him, with the keys to Leo's car instead of the one to his bike.

"Raph, slow down," Mikey complained, doing his best to stumble along without tripping. "I only got like, five minutes of sleep, bro."

"Sorry, Mikey. We gotta hurry or we'll be late," Raph said, but he did slow down enough that Mikey could maneuver the stairs without breaking his neck, shaking off the clinging webs of sleep with every step.

"Seriously, what's the rush? It's not like April's gonna move on us if we're a few minutes late."

"Leo's got company comin' over short-notice, and we need to split before he gets here," Raph said, then gritted his teeth, like he'd messed up somehow. "Y'know, like he said, paperwork stuff. The two of us bein' here, we'll just get in the way."

"But Don's smart, so he gets to stay and help?" Mikey asked. That made sense, and Raphael nodded, confirming the idea. He pushed open the front door of the building and pulled Mikey into the crisp cold, and double-timed it down the steps and around the front toward the grate entrance to the private parking lot. The ancient metal handle had frozen overnight, and Raph muttered darkly under his breath as he tried to get it open, and Mikey, for his part, shivered helpfully and yawned, casting a passive glance around the street.

It was Sunday morning, and their neighborhood wasn't ever too busy on Sunday mornings. A few joggers and dog-walkers, the ceaseless, spotty traffic, and…

He blinked. He didn't recognize the Rolls-Royce pulling up in front of their building, parking in about the same spot Hob had just a few hours ago. Pretty swanky for this side of Queens.

Behind him, Raph let out a triumphant bark of _"hah!"_ when the wrought iron gate finally swung open, and Mikey reached over to tug on his jacket and point across the yard, saying, "Hey, Raphie, get a load of the rich guy."

At the same time the driver's side door popped open, and a very tall guy got out, Raph cursed under his breath and grabbed Mikey with both arms, hauling him into the fenced parking lot and catching the gate before it could shut with a slam.

Mikey felt his mouth tug into a frown.

"Raph, what the heck?"

"I said we were late, didn't I? Hurry up."

And maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bunk this morning, but Mikey was _tired,_ not stupid. And his brothers seemed totally on-edge for some reason, between the tight worry in Leo's eyes and the uncharacteristic rush Raph was in.

Rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, and trying to _wake up_ so he could puzzle this out, Mikey cast another glance over his shoulder at the rich guy, who was starting up the short walk toward the front door of the building. He wasn't looking in Mikey's direction, and the angle would have made it hard for him to see Mikey anyway, but…

Cool surprise rushed over Mikey like rain.

He climbed into the car agreeably, and smiled his thanks when Raph nudged the heat up for him, but he was lost in thought for most of the ride to April's, the rich guy's face stuck to the front of his mind like taffy.

They stopped at a red light, about halfway there, and Raph checked the rearview mirror. After a few seconds, he sighed in relief, and glanced sidelong at Mikey and his quiet little corner of the car.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry we had to rush you out like that. Leo told us you had a pretty late night. You can get some more shuteye when we get to Ape's, okay?"

"Okay," Mikey said, even though he didn't really plan on napping anymore. He tapped his fingers on his knee, tugged at the too-long sleeves where they drooped over his hands, and then continued a little hesitantly, "Hey, Raphie?"

"Yeah?"

"That guy back there, with the fancy car," he said slowly, not quite catching the way Raph's shoulders tightened, and his fingers went white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "Didn't he kind of look a lot like sensei?"


	33. To Pieces - Part 1

"I can hear you thinkin' from all the way over here," Raph said after a few minutes had gone by of heavy silence. "Knock it off."

It was an invitation to talk if Mikey ever heard one. Raph had been pretty quiet from the driver's side of the car, ever since his mumbled _'I dunno I didn't see him'_ opinion of the weirdly familiar stranger; but when Mikey glanced over at that point, it was to find his big brother watching him with something expectant and a little apprehensive in his eyes, like he was waiting for some terrible, inevitable question.

Mikey looked away.

"It's nothing," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm pretty tired. I might have just been seeing things. Or maybe—I mean, it's not like we have any pictures of sensei, maybe I'm just starting to forget him."

He wasn't prepared for that thought to hurt like it did, and maybe it hurt Raph, too, because Raph didn't say a word. They _didn't_ have pictures, though. Their big scrapbook was still at the family house, maybe—or maybe it got boxed away or thrown out by whoever was running the school now. It was equally lost to Mikey either way, and Mikey didn't even have his cellphone from back then anymore. He knew if he did, he could upload probably hundreds of pictures to Don's computer, selfies and forced family pictures and so many blurred, bright faces, caught in a surprised scowl, or mid-word, or halfway through a laugh.

Sometimes it seemed like their lives were made up of a series of departures. First their mom, then sensei, then the home they had with him, and all the things they collected during their time together. He wasn't _numb_ to it, it would always hurt just a little on particularly lonely days, but it was almost like a part of him _knew_ that everything was only temporary. That people came and went, and the only thing that changed was the amount of time they stayed.

It wasn't that he expected to be abandoned. He just wasn't sure what it meant to _not_ be. He liked Mr. O'Neil, and Woody's mam, and coach, and a few of his teammates' parents when they came to meetings and stuff, but… It was almost like a concept he didn't quite understand. Parents that stayed.

He used to think his mom must have not been a very nice person, for leaving them like she did—for leaving Leo with so much to worry about that he probably should have spontaneously combusted  _years_ ago. But Leo explained, as they grew up, that he thought mom must have been depressed; she died from a handful of too many pills, but it wasn't her fault- she just needed help that she never got. Leo loved her, still, and since she was practically a stranger to Mikey, he figured he could trust Leo's judgement on that.

And sometimes, even though Mikey _knew_ for a fact, the way Raph knew about car parts and Donnie knew about all that stuff in those countless books of his, that sensei was a good guy, Mikey was still angry at him sometimes. Because he left, too, and even though he took them in when he didn't have to, and gave them a home and a family, and told them how proud he was and how much he loved them, he _left_ them. And it broke their hearts, and Leo had to pick up the pieces _again._

But Mikey still loved sensei, still missed him. And he didn't _hate_ his mom, for all that he thought he might now and then. He couldn't really get a handle on what he felt about them. He never had to think about it, never had to worry, because he always had three brothers to do all the worrying for him, and maybe, really, _that_ was the root of the whole problem. He'd been taken care of his whole life, he was practically useless on his own.

Still…

Mikey fervently hoped history was done repeating itself. He didn't know what he'd do if one of his brothers went away, too.

"Yeah, you _must_ be tired, if you're thinkin' someone like you could actually forget _anybody_ ," Raph said suddenly, roughly, "let alone our dad." They were coming up on April's neighborhood, and Raph was staring through the windshield with what looked like enough force to crack the glass. "If that guy looked like sensei, he looked like sensei. Quit second-guessing yourself, you know better'n that."

"But—but I mean, he looked _scary_ like him," Mikey said slowly, not totally understanding the flip-flop Raph was making with his argument. A second ago he hadn't even _seen_ the guy, why was get so worked up about what he maybe looked like? "Like, for a second I almost thought—"

"Mikey," Raph interrupted, then cut himself off with a grit of his teeth. Mikey blinked at him while he parked Leo's old car by the curb, then killed the engine and tugged the keys out of the starter. He was frowning at his hands as he continued, "I dunno what to tell you, kid. I ain't supposed to say. And don't look like that," Raph added, almost plaintive—as plaintive as Raph could be, anyway—before Mikey had a chance to organize his expression. "It ain't me, Mikey, Leo really don't want us to talk about it."

Oh.

So all of it _had_ meant something.

The rush out of the apartment, Raph's peculiar reaction to the 'rich guy' when Mikey pointed him out, who was such a creepy likeness of their dad that he might have been a _clone_ …. If he had any more energy, Mikey might have been able to work up some hurt, or frustration, or maybe even anger. This was really getting _old._

Seeing sensei—or a man who just resembled sensei a lot—was pretty shocking, like taking a sudden, unwanted ice bath, and he was really not happy that there was, apparently, a reason the dude had showed up. That meant that there had been potential for Mikey's brothers to _warn_ him about the dude showing up, and give him room to prepare himself for the confused, complicated ball of missing-someone and hurt in his chest that he was dealing with now.

Then again…hadn't _he_ been keeping his own fair share of secrets, recently? He couldn't exactly get all high and mighty about his brothers doing it, could he, after he'd kept so much from them and worried them all like _crazy_ the past few weeks.

All he did was make mistakes, make problems for his family that they had to help him fix—and it made sense that they would keep the heavier stuff out of his reach, that they wouldn't quite confide in him even when it might have made things a whole lot easier. How could they trust someone, and have faith in someone, who couldn't even take care of himself?

So he shrugged again, aiming for noncommittal and not quite managing to keep the unhappy tone out of his voice.

"Guess I deserve that."

Raph cursed colorfully, and Mikey stared at him.

"Okay, I didn't deserve _that_."

"It ain't about _deservin'_ Mikey. And even if it _was_ , ya _don't_." Raph rubbed a hand over his short hair, looking incredibly frustrated for so early in the morning, it had to be a new personal record. "You know how Leo is. He's just tryin' to look out for us by keepin' us in the dark."

Of course he was. That sort of ran in their family. Leo probably got it from sensei, who'd kept them in the dark for _years,_ but Leo had inherited the "good intentions" part of it, too. He thought, if he could carry the weight on his own, he should. He thought if he could give his brothers one less thing to worry about, even at cost to himself, he _should._

"He's so annoying," Mikey said, frustrated and fond simultaneously, a scowl touching his face. Raph mirrored his expression to a tee.

"You're tellin' me. Honestly, Mikey, I don't know much myself. Donnie figured it out for himself, with that damned big brain of his, but he won't break Leo's trust by talkin'. And I won't ask him to." Raph looked decidedly mulish, and if nothing else, Mikey was glad that Raph was in his corner on this.

"Okay," Mikey said, with a short huff. "I won't ask you to, either."

"Nah. I can't go from tellin' you not to keep secrets, to keepin' one from you. That's not fair. That guy you saw—none of us have ever met him before face-to-face, unless Leo's lyin' about that, too. But that guy was Saki," Raph said, watching Mikey carefully. "Sensei's brother, remember? The one who—"

"Holy cats," Mikey said, and his eyes were probably as wide as the moon. "He's still a _thing?"_

"I know, right?" Raph grinned halfway, a surprised gesture, and some of the tension bled out of his body with a downward slump of his shoulders. "The stories sensei used to tell made it sound like he was dead, or—I dunno, a fairy tale or something. Nothin' real. Nothin' that could stop by for a visit on a random Saturday afternoon."

Mikey was wide-awake, now, and shocked and a little wondering. Whatever he might have been expecting, it wasn't _that._ "Why's he here?" he asked after a minute. "I thought he didn't even show up to the funeral. If he hated dad so much, what's he want with us?"

"And _that's_ the million dollar question, little brother." Raph unclicked his seatbelt, so Mikey followed suit, and they climbed out of the car. Raph waited for Mikey to make it around the front to him, and then tucked Mikey under his arm, shelter from the sharp, cold wind that had started up at some point on the ride over. Mikey snugged a little closer, and tried to match Raph's longer strides with wider steps of his own as they started up the neat walkway to the O'Neil's townhouse. "I say we corner Leo when we get home, and beat some answers out of him. Bein' kept in the dark is the _pits_ , I'm a little surprised you haven't gone postal by now."

"Soon," Mikey said solemnly, just to coax an amused snort from his brother, then lifted a sleeved hand to smother a yawn. "If we're gonna beat up Leo later, I might needa nap after all."

"Yeah? How can you be so tired, anyway? You went to bed _before_ me."

"I snuck out this morning," Mikey said comfortably. "Fire escape, yo."

"You're fuckin' kidding," his brother said slowly, and when Mikey only shrugged modestly, Raph's face broke into a blinding, hands-down _priceless_ grin. "You take after me after all."

He said it like it was a good thing, for once, and that made Mikey's morning a hundred times better. Pleased, he rocked back on his heels, and it was only when Raph finally popped the gate open that an unfortunately familiar voice called a simple, "Hey," from a park bench not too far away, and Mikey's heart sank with surprising alacrity down to the bottom of his stomach.

Oh, come _on._

Slash stood in a slow, towering way, and headed towards them with that disarming, sideways smile. After everything else, seeing him was almost anticlimactic. Almost. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a baggy army jacket, and he looked more like a normal giant person than an evil giant person, but Mikey wasn't buying it.

"He knows where April lives?" Mikey whispered, and Raph's hackles went up like a wary dog's. He took one solid step forward, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"What the hell do you want?"

Slash looked put off by Raph's tone. Mikey hovered at his brother's back, and wished Leatherhead was there.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, innocently enough. "Since you, y'know, cut our conversation short last time."

"You mean that conversation we had about you harassing my baby brother?" Raph replied dangerously, and Slash held up his hands.

"It was a misunderstanding, I told you that," as if Mikey wasn't standing _right there._ Classy. "I didn't do anything to him."

"You fucking _scared_ him! I could kick your ass right now for how bad you fucking scared him." The explosive tone of Raph's voice was whole weeks of worry erupting all at once, a painful, built-upon thing that had finally _finally_ found a worthy scapegoat. "Don't come around like that, like you can do that kinda shit and still be my friend."

And it was Raph's friend, Mikey had to make himself remember that. This was little Spike, somehow—though Mikey still wasn't sure how that could be—who had been Raph's buddy for years, who had made Raph's life a tiny bit brighter on those days when everything must have been really hard. And Mikey remembered how hard it was on Raph when Spike vanished, how hard it was to accept that his friend was just gone.

If all that had happened was that night on the soccer field, Mikey would be willing to put his own uneasy feelings on a shelf for Raph's sake, and pretend like he was okay with the Boogeyman hanging around, even though he'd probably spend a lot less time at home if that were the case. But Slash had hurt Leo back in the day, with _intent._ And Donnie seemed frightened of him in a different, more specific way than Mikey was.

So Mikey stayed quiet, and let Raph go about burning bridges. It was probably for the best.

"But—you don't need those guys," Slash said abruptly, almost beseeching, searching Raph's face for some sign of something familiar. "You're better off alone. That's what you said."

"I was a _stupid_ , _shitty_ little kid," Raph said slowly, like it was all so _obvious_ and didn't Slash _get_ it by now? "All that dumb shit I said back then was just me bein' mad at the world, and takin' it out on my family, 'cause I knew they'd always forgive me. That's the _only_ reason they always got the worst of my bad attitude. Not 'cause they deserved it. Not 'cause I didn't need 'em. Just 'cause—well."

He shrugged, but his eyes didn't waver, and there were mountains in his words, steadfast and unmovable. It was almost like he was reaching out, trying to help Slash understand why it had to be this way. The anger wasn't there anymore, calm resolve had replaced it.

"The only people it's safe to hurt are the ones who  _love_ you, the way my brothers love me. 'Course I need 'em. I'll always need 'em. Took me a few long, stupid, stubborn years to figure it out, but my brothers come first, no matter what."

Mikey grinned, a huge, wide thing that took up every inch of his face, and said, "Right on, bro."

But when he looked back at Slash, the glee froze solid and fell away, and his heart kicked up a notch, hammering painfully against his chest. Because those turquoise eyes were overbright and manic, and something _happened_ to Slash's expression to make it go shuttered and closed and cold, and Raph went tense and stock-still, seeing what Mikey had seen all those nights ago in the cold and wet of the ruined soccer field after his championship match.

Something twisted, and hateful, and _mean._

"Well, then," Slash said, and even his voice sounded different, pitched rough and raw, the Boogeyman from Mikey's bad dreams, right there in the flesh. "I'll just have to make the choice a little easier for ya."

And with that he was walking away, and Mikey stood there next to his brother, watching Slash's retreating back, while his heart thumped loudly in his ears.

"Holy shit," Raph said eloquently, after what felt like an hour had gone by. "No wonder you had nightmares."


	34. To Pieces - Part 2

The O'Neil's condo was painted brownstone, a pale sepia color, with tall, arching windows and a few neat steps up to the front door, lined on each side with pretty potted plants. They had a key for emergencies, but Raphael knocked anyway, and Mr. O'Neil was the one to let them in.

The man's hair was fire engine red and balding from the crown of his head, and there were bags under his eyes like he'd had a really long month. He was wearing his 'office clothes'—which were really just sensible pajamas—and holding a mug in hand, a giant bag of pretzels tucked under the same arm. He was clearly only passing through the foyer after a successful snack run, which meant he probably had a hundred things to do in the line of paperwork.

Still, he smiled when he saw them at the door, and accepted Mikey's offered fistbump without missing a beat. He didn't say "make yourselves at home," anymore because the sentiment was a little redundant by now, but he always seemed happy to have them around.

"Hey, boys. April and Casey are in the den. Pizza money is on the kitchen counter."

"You the man, Mr. O'Neil," Raph said by way of thanks, shoving Mikey down the hall ahead of him. Mikey went, with only a very tiny stumble, and stuck his tongue out over his shoulder; then had to scurry a little faster, when Raph advanced on him with a predatory grin. "Coward," his brother called, but Mikey scooted safely into the den anyway, where April would scowl thunderously and threaten big-sisterly-violence if Raph tried any funny business.

It was a relatively small room, but that just gave it a _cozy_ element that Mikey considered the most important aspect of interior decorating and architecture combined. Mostly leather furniture accented the room, all warmed up by draped quilts or blankets; there was a kitchenette and bar in the back, and a ton of pictures on the wall, family and vacation photos, and post cards, travel posters. It was like stepping into the cover of a magazine, almost.

Almost, because there comic books and _regular_ books and DVD cases and empty Rockstar cans littering the coffee table and surrounding floor to a radius of about two feet. April had a pencil tucked behind her ear and a scowl on her face, highlighting something in a spiral notebook with unnecessary force, and Casey was strewn face-first in a beanbag chair on the floor.

"Woah," Mikey said from the doorway. "Is this a bad time?"

April blinked, looking up from her notebook with a start. Then her face split in a wide, freckled smile, and she sat up straight, abandoning her highlighter and spreading her arms. "Is it ever? Get over here, you."

Mikey didn't need any more invitation than that, skirting a few stray papers to take the hug she was offering with a solid dive. She let out an _oof_ , then laughed, and man, she was such a _girl—_ soft and warm and nice-smelling, and kissing his forehead with a silly 'mwah' sound and winding karate-hardened arms around his shoulders. Mikey loved her so much.

Casey sat up, grinning automatically at Mikey, then across the room at Raph, asRaph shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

"'Bout time you two got here. I've been waitin' all weekend to kick somebody's ass at Mario Kart, and either o' you dudes will do."

Raph snorted, taking the long way around the room to lean over the back of the couch and kiss April on the cheek in greeting. Even Raph was a total pushover when it came to April, but she took it all in stride.

"You look terrible, Mikey," she said while he was still leaning into her, framing his face in both her hands. "When's the last time you got a decent night's sleep?"

"Uhhh… What day is it?"

She pursed her lips, and pushed him away by the shoulders, and snatched a fallen couch cushion off the floor near her feet. She propped it up by her leg, and gave it a pat, and Mikey took his cue. He really _was_ tired, a kind of tired that felt like all his bones had been replaced by cement, that made walking feel like wading through thick syrup, and the couch was soft and cool to the touch, and Mikey sank into it gratefully.

Raph told him not to worry. Easy for _Raph_ to say.

"I already told you, we'll deal with it," is what he'd said earlier, giving Mikey a push through the gate and locking it securely behind them with maybe one sharp, lingering glance through the bars in the direction Slash had gone. "You've done enough stressin' out for one lifetime."

Which Mikey heartily agreed with. But it's not like he could just _stop._

He _could_ it out of his mind though, just for now. He was really tired _—_ he wasn't sure he had the energy to let this brand-new apprehension go spinning through his brain with its usual, rather reckless abandon, even if he _wanted_ to. Which he didn't. Worrying sucked, he had no clue how Leo did it all the time.

So if his brothers wanted to take care of it this time around… Okay. He'd let 'em. They were pretty capable guys, after all.

"Casey, will you get the lights?"

"Huh? Oh—yeah, sure."

"Jeez, is he out already? He _must_ have been—"

Mikey woke up slowly some time later. It was dark, and since there were no windows, he had no idea what time it might have been. The den was illuminated by a wash of light and motion from a movie on T.V., silhouetting Raph and Casey where they sat on the opposite side of the coffee table, and the low volume plus quiet conversation made for a steady stream of background noise. At some point, someone had covered him with a quilt. He blinked a few times, felt too comfortable to move, and felt April shift, rubbing his shoulder.

"Go back to sleep, Mike."

That sounded like a good idea.

* * *

Mikey slept through most of the visit, which was _lame—_ but instead of waking up feeling all gross and groggy, he felt pretty good. There was cold pizza to munch on when he woke up, too, even though April made a face at him for being too lazy to get up and use the microwave.

He couldn't help the way his eyes trailed over all the touches of Casey around the room. And around the rest of the house, too, as they made their way to the front door. His hockey gear, all stuffed inexplicably in a worn leather golf caddy at the end of the hall, the dumbbells Mikey tripped over on his way to the pantry for a Crush, the award letter on the fridge next to April's that proudly boasted, _"Mr. Jones, Congratulations. We are pleased to inform you…"_

It caught Mikey's eye as he popped the tab on his soda, and he studied it for a minute. Donnie had a similar letter, one that Leo had confiscated the moment it came in the mail with a dangerous gleam in his eye that had prompted Raph to pat Donnie on the back: "Sorry bro. It's getting framed now." Of _course_ Donnie got into NYU if that's the school he chose, he could get into whatever college he wanted. And April hadn't second guessed herself for a moment, either, but Casey hadn't been sure. He had a full ride, thanks to his mad skill in the hockey rink, but he had zero confidence in himself when it came to academia.

Donnie and April had refused to let him doubt himself out of it, though. From what Mikey had figured, they'd made each other a promise to go to college together, and they had studied with Casey for extra _hours_ to get his grades where they needed to be.

Casey, April and Raph were all seniors, and Donnie was graduating a early along with them. All his siblings were leaving school at the same time, and soon enough Mikey would be on his own.

* * *

Leo and Donnie were sitting on the couch, nursing big, steaming mugs and talking quietly over a stack of papers on the coffee table. They looked up when the front door opened, and Donnie, at least, smiled warmly at the sight of Raph and Mikey. Leo just looked kind of stressed out.

"Hey, you two," Donnie said, setting his mug down and rising to his feet. Leo stood up, too, and seemed to be bracing himself for something, hands folding and unfolding. "How was the visit?"

"We beat Casey at Mario Kart like a hundred times," Mikey chirped, climbing out of his jacket. He was still kind of chilly—and _why_ did he feel cold all the time?—so he rolled Leatherhead's drooping sleeves up to his wrists, but kept the giant hoodie on. He'd wear it till he got warmed up. "What's for dinner?"

"First things first," Raph said, tossing the keys toward the kitchen table, where they landed noisily. "I got a bone to pick with you, Leo."

"Hold the bone, Raph," Leo said, finally dragging wary blue eyes up to meet Raph's. "I need to tell you something." Raph blinked, but the surprise on his face stole away quickly and suspicion replaced it. Leo looked at Donnie, and Donnie's head inclined the barest inch. Leo took a breath, held it for a second, then let it out. "It's about Spike. Slash. It's about something that happened awhile ago."

Mikey felt a nudge on his shoulder, and glanced up at Donnie, who gestured subtly toward the next room. He looked over at their older brothers, then back again, and understood.

"Fight?" he asked in a stage whisper.

"Fight," Donnie confirmed.

"Kitchen?"

"Kitchen."

It didn't offer Leo or Raph very much privacy, since there wasn't like a door or anything in between the two rooms, but at least they could pretend not to be listening. Mikey leaned against the counter and gave Don an appraising look.

"So Leo's gonna tell him about what Slash did to his arm? How'd you manage _that?"_

"It was like pulling teeth," Donnie said wryly. "Thank god I have plenty of practice in dealing with extreme personalities. It's been an interesting night, to say the least."

"Interesting because of Uncle Saki?" he asked carefully, and Don's smile was rueful. He moved to stand by Mikey and leaned against him, a warm, solid weight at Mikey's side.

"Raph texted me about what happened. I'm sorry you found out that way. Just imagining how shocked you must have been made a _very_ good argument against Leo, in convincing him to tell Raph the truth." His brown-eyed brother sighed through his nose, and continued a little quieter, "I'm so sick to death of secrets."

Mikey could sympathize. Raph and Leo's conversation was starting to get heated even though their voices stayed low and quiet, but Mikey managed to tune them out to ask, "Donnie? What was Uncle Saki doing here?" He knew Raph wanted to know, too, but Mikey wanted to know _now._ He was tired of not knowing stuff, he wouldn't be as worried all the time if he just _knew_ stuff. Donnie took a deep breath, not quite a sigh, and Mikey knew that meant he was casting around for a good place to start.

"When father died," he said, quietly, "Leo was only sixteen. There's no way the courts would have let him keep us, not at his age—not when you were so little."

"I was twelve," Mikey protested, and Don gave him a look.

"And as far as child welfare was concerned, that made you a _baby._ The point is, Leo was a teenager. And no one in their right mind would have just _handed_ him guardianship. But sensei—well, he knew he was dying, you know," Don said, his voice going a little strained, "so he had time to prepare. He reached out to a few friends he had in Child Services, and Mr. O'Neil—he's a psychologist, you know, and he was willing to help us. Leo got emancipated, got his GED, got a job, and proved every second of every day that he was willing and responsible enough to care for us. He still meets with a case worker a few times a year—not nearly as often as he had to initially—but Mr. O'Neil vouches for him. It ended up working out."

Donnie ran a hand through his hair, giving Mikey a few minutes to digest that brand new hundred-foot-deep well of information, then added, "Saki, though—Saki's in charge. He may have wanted nothing to do with father or the Hamato family as a whole, but he inherited the estate when father died. And I guess—there's a document somewhere that Leo got in the mail, I'm not sure where it is right now, but—Saki is our only living family." An uncomfortable shrug. "He's sensei's power of attorney, and he could pull the rug out from under Leo in one fell swoop if he wanted to. He could assert that power and just—just ruin all of this, you know? This life we built."

Mikey wasn't used to his brothers speaking so _honestly_ to him, but Donnie looked like he needed to. The words seemed to weigh a hundred pounds and went rushing out of him like water out of a broken dam, faster and louder with every moment. And Mikey didn't mind one bit. It felt _good_ to be leaned on and confided in, even with something so big and so scary. The last time someone had given him such big, blanket trust was when Leatherhead showed him his scars—and just like last time, Mikey was absolutely determined to carry the responsibility of that trust to his grave. Just like last time, Mikey thought he really liked the feeling of being believed in.

"I guess I knew all that about Leo," he said slowly. "I mean, at the time I didn't get it, but everything you're saying makes sense. Like we're filling in the blanks or something. But, I had no idea Uncle Saki was in charge of us like that. If he hated sensei, doesn't that mean he hates us, too?"

Donnie's shrug looked tight and uncomfortable. "You'd think. Saki usually only corresponded when he _had_ to, and even then only through email. We didn't know he would show up today until _today,_ when he called from the airport. We're still not entirely sure what he came for."

Maybe it was because Don looked so obviously stressed out, but Mikey was finding it hard to be stressed out himself. Whatever was going on, Leo would handle it. Leo could handle _anything._ He had clearly done an amazing job at keeping their little family afloat, and Mikey wasn't twelve anymore. Let Child Services _try_ to take him away.

"Oh—oh, Mikey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload on you like that." Don shifted his arm out from where it was sandwiched between them and wrapped it around Mikey's shoulders instead. "Don't worry, okay? Everything will be okay."

Mikey was all set to say something super encouraging and supportive, when Raph's voice in the living room sailed into a shout:

"For god's sake, Leo, don't you trust me at _all?"_

"Of course I do," Leo said wearily. Now that Mikey was watching and listening, he could make out Leo's quiet words clearly. "I just—"

" _You just_ wanna carry the whole world on your shoulders, nevermind you gotta whole army of people willin' and wantin' to _help_ ," Raph spat, and he sounded as mad as Mikey had ever heard him, but also—worried. Some strange, painful combination of love and concern and real, honest hurt that made it hard to look at his face, even when he wasn't looking Mikey's way. He studied Leo for a long, drawn, angry moment then, incredibly, something in his sharp face softened. "I could carry some of it too, Leo. You don't gotta do everything on your own. If you trust me," he said quietly, "then could you _trust_ me once in awhile?"

Leo blinked once, then twice, the ocean blue of his eyes raw and surprised. His mouth opened, but he couldn't seem to think of anything to say, and that open sincerity in Raph's expression shuttered like storm doors slamming.

"Forget it," he bit out, yanking his jacket and stalking to the door. He ripped his motorcycle key off the hook on the wall and stooped to grab his helmet. "You don't care what I say, anyway."

That propelled Leo a step forward, shaking him from his wordless stupor, and he started, "Raph—"

But the front door shut with enough force that Don and Mikey both winced in unison, and Leo was effectively cut short. He just stood there for a minute in the empty living room, staring at the door like Raph might pop back in at any moment. When that didn't happen, his shoulders slumped with a sigh that took the steel straight out of his spine, and he rubbed a hand through his dark, tousled hair.

"Well," he said to no one, a touch more bitter than Mikey was comfortable with, "that went about as well as I thought it would."

"At least he knows now," Donnie offered softly from his spot next to Mikey in the kitchen. "He's more hurt than angry, Leo. You knew he would be."

"He just hates that he was friends with someone so bad," Mikey added, something crushing in his chest at the defeated look on his oldest brother's face. "He doesn't hate _you."_

Leo glanced over as they spoke, like he was just remembering they were there, and offered a very pale imitation of his usual smile. He didn't say anything, though, just went back to his seat on the sofa and carded through some of the papers on the coffee table with zero enthusiasm.

Poor Leo.

"He seems really glum," Mikey said as he opened the fridge, looking over the door at Donnie. "It isn't just the fight with Raph, is it? They used to fight all the time—that one was pretty tame by comparison."

Somehow, amazingly, Donnie's mouth turned up at the edges wryly. "You're right," he said innocently. "While you were gone, Leo had a fight with his girlfriend."

And then, immediately, from the living room: "Would you _stop_? She is _not_ my girlfriend."

"Oh, man," Mikey said, a delighted grin taking up all the room on his face. "Tell me everything."

"Tell him _nothing,_ " Leo said sourly, without so much as sparing them a glance. "Because we didn't have a fight, and we aren't dating, and—" He looked up, scowling magnificently, and Don actually had to execute a smooth turn toward the cabinet, under the guise of grabbing a few dishes for Mikey, just so Leo wouldn't see his amused smile break even wider. "She _lied_ to me! I can't believe her!"

"She didn't exactly _lie,_ Leo."

"Not telling the truth is lying, Donnie."

"Oh, my— It's obvious she wants nothing to do with the guy, why else would she take her mother's maiden name? Besides, it's not like that's an easy subject to broach in the first place. 'Hello, nice to meet you. I'm sure it's going to be a pleasure working with you. Let me show you around our office. And by the way, relative stranger, about your surname—'"

Mikey had no idea where this conversation was going, but Leo's face was priceless. "You're simplifying everything."

"And you're making it too complicated! Honestly, Leo, Karai _likes_ you. She wouldn't do _anything_ for the sole purpose of hurting you, and you _know_ that."

Leo looked like he _did_ know that, but he didn't like hearing it. He frowned deeply, and looked back down at the papers in his hands, and Don sighed gustily, muttering _"hopeless,"_ under his breath. Mikey, for one, was entirely too glad he didn't have relationship issues to deal with, because it looked like absolutely no fun.

"By the way," Donnie asked after a bit, while they were very artfully dropping M&Ms in the pancake batter that would soon serve as dinner, "isn't that Lamar's hoodie?"

Mikey glanced down at himself, only just remembering he had it on, and chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah. Raph grabbed it by mistake this morning, and I've been too comfy to change out of it."

Don was quiet for a minute, then his smile came back a little soft around the edges, a little _knowing_ for reasons Mikey wasn't sure he understood. But all he said was, noncommittally, "Is that so?" and let it go.

With a plate wrapped up for Raph and stowed carefully in the microwave, Don and Mike sandwiched Leo on the couch and shoved a blue plate of pancakes into his lap, complete with whipped cream, syrup, and a fork stuck straight in the middle. He fumbled with it for a moment, righting it before it could drip on his jeans, and while he was distracted, Donnie pushed his papers out of arm's reach and Mikey turned the T.V. on.

"Family time means movie time," Mikey said sagely. "No paperwork until after the credits are rolling and the pancakes have been consumed."

Leo didn't put up very much of a fight. Little brothers had that kind of sway over him, not that they'd _ever_ use it to their advantage.

It was maybe twenty minutes later that Leo's phone rang. He put his plate down and fished it out of his back pocket, and scowled almost immediately when he saw the caller I.D.. Donnie fought an obvious smile.

"If you're angry at her, don't answer it," he suggested innocently, and Leo got to his feet, jabbing the green 'accept call' button with undue force.

"She'd just call again," he said tersely, fooling no one, and went into the kitchen to take the call. Don and Mikey shared a covert look, and Mikey nudged the volume down by a few subtle clicks of the remote. "Karai, when I tell you _not_ to call me, what do you think that—" He was cut off at that point, if the annoyed look on his face was anything to go by. "…Yeah, I know you're calling from the hospital, this is our office number. …What _about_ Raph?"

Then Donnie went very, very still beside Mikey, his eyes wide and bright in the half-gloom of the T.V. and the city lights outside the window; and Leo's face went _white,_ at the same time his expression went faraway. And Mikey didn't get it right away like they did but subconsciously he was miles and miles ahead—his heart clenched in cold, icy fear, and his fingers curled painfully into his knees, as Leo repeated himself, much more quietly, in a voice that didn't sound like his.

"Karai? What about him?"


	35. To Pieces - Part 3

Mikey sat by himself in the waiting room, twisting the cuffs of his borrowed hoodie where they drooped over his hands, and glanced up every time someone walked by the door. He thought he’d been waiting for a couple of hours now, even if the clock in the reception area was broken and he couldn’t be certain. Donnie had borrowed Mikey’s phone when he stepped out awhile ago, since he’d forgotten to grab his own on the mad rush out the door, so Mikey didn’t even have that to distract himself with.

His hands were shaking. He shoved them under his thighs. Everything happened so fast, his head was still spinning. Their dinner plates were sitting on the coffee table, the T.V. was still on—Leo was a stickler about electricity, but the apartment was well-lit when Donnie slammed the door shut behind him, Mikey wasn’t even sure if he’d paused to lock it.

Mikey wasn’t sure of anything.

Karai had been waiting for them when they pulled up—they got to park where the ambulances do, because Leo had a special sticker on his car and Karai had cleared it with the EMT dispatch people. She was waiting for them when they burst into the E.R., and dropped whatever she was doing at the check-in desk to meet Leo immediately.

“Where is he?” Leo had said by way of greeting, blue eyes electric under the sterile fluorescent lights. His voice was almost _unfamiliar_ , for the first time in Mikey’s life. He’d never heard Leo sound like that before. “Karai, please, where—”

“He’s still in the O.R.,” she said, her voice not gentle, but something close to it. “You know you can’t see him yet, Leonardo. But he’ll be just fine. Pride’s the one who brought him in. You know she took good care of him, she’s the best EMT we’ve got. His vitals were strong, he—”

“What _happened?”_ Don cut in. His face was pale, but he had a supporting hand on Leo’s shoulder, and leveled a composed look at Karai that would have impressed Mikey on any other night. “We still don’t know what happened, Karai.”

“It was a car accident,” she told them. She didn’t miss a beat at Donnie’s interruption, just kept her eyes on Leo like she was afraid he was going to disappear. “Raphael was T-boned by an SUV, a hit-and-run in Pomonok. A couple heard the noise and ran out of their house to help; they’re the ones who placed the call. We don’t know anything about the driver, the couple couldn’t give the police a very good description of the vehicle.”

“He was on his bike,” Leo said quietly, just barely audible over all the visitors and hospital staff around them coming and going. “Oh, god. Karai. He was on that stupid _bike.”_

She put her arms around him, and Donnie turned a half step away to run a shaking hand through his hair, and Mikey was left to one side, staring at them; mind racing to put together all the things they weren’t saying out loud. He felt cold, almost numb with how _cold_ he was, and as much as he wanted to understand, he was afraid to say anything. Karai said Raph was going to be okay, so he _would_ be. He held onto that with both hands, and a desperation that scared him.

Leo clung to Karai like she was a lifeline, for all of a few moments; then he was stepping back, wiping a hand over his face even though he hadn’t cried, shoving mountains of hurt under a flimsy rug. “I want to talk to Pride,” he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat. “Is she still here?”

“Yeah, she knew you’d want to see her. I grabbed your I.D. out of your locker.” Karai withdrew the laminated badge from her pocket and clipped it to the front of Leo’s field jacket, then pressed her hand to the front of his shoulder. “Stay with me, Leo. You’ve got to stay with me, alright? Everything will be alright—we’ll take care of him.”

Leo nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and started to say something to Donnie, but Donnie shook his head. “We’ll be fine. Go find out what you can.”

Mikey jumped when Leo faced him in turn—he’d been expecting Leo to take off with Karai right away, it only made sense for him to go right to Raph right now, didn’t it? But no—whatever Mikey’s face looked like at that moment made Leo need to cross the few feet between them at a strong stride and _yank_ him into a hug. His hands were caught between them, folded against his chest, but Leo squeezed him with enough force for them both, and held him there for what could have been a minute or an hour, then left him with Donnie and disappeared behind the ‘personnel only’ door with Karai.

That had been awhile ago. Mikey wished he had a working clock to look at. The waiting room was sort of bugging him out; the walls were like big windows looking out into the hall and the reception area, and Mikey could make out the power doors of the emergency entrance from where he sat in his uncomfortable plastic chair. It was ink black outside, the hospital lights standing out stark and bright in contrast, and Mikey only pulled his eyes away when they started to water.

He itched for his phone. He wanted someone to talk to. It was so weird—he visited Leo at work all the time, even when he was going through rotations as a student, and Mikey had never had any problems with the hospital _then_.

But now his skin was crawling. He felt cold.

He wished the clock worked. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know _anything._ But everyone in the hall was still working like normal—none of the nurses seemed to be in an especially big hurry, there were no sirens wailing or emergency pages that Mikey could hear. Another ambulance pulled in awhile ago, but from what he overheard, it was just a little girl recovering from an allergic reaction, she was okay. Everyone was okay.

If Raph was dying, Mikey would know. He’d be able to tell, right? It wouldn’t be business as usual out there, everyone would be scurrying around like ants to save him, and _then_ Mikey would know to be worried. But it was still looking orderly—still the calm ebb and flow of sleepless patients in wheelchairs and late-night visitors trudging to and from the cafeteria with cups of coffee and vending machine food and nurses with big, traffic-stopping medicine carts. Mikey took a deep breath.

Raph was okay. That’s what Karai said, anyway. He was okay.

He didn’t know what was taking so long. He darted a glance at the receptionist, then looked back down at his lap again. He was afraid to ask.

His name made him jump, and he whipped his head up to meet Donnie’s tired eyes. His brother was holding out his phone, and he grabbed it gratefully; then Don dropped into the rigid plastic chair beside his and put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close.

Mikey leaned into him, unlocking his phone with eager fingers. It was close to eleven o’clock, it really _had_ been hours. “Did you get ahold of Casey and April?” he asked after a minute.

“Yeah,” Donnie said quietly, “they’re on their way. I told them they didn’t have to, but—”

“Of course they do,” Mikey said shortly, scrolling through his texts. “It’s _Raph.”_ Donnie didn’t argue that, or say anything else really, and Mikey paused, fingers going still against the touchscreen. There were messages in his inbox he didn’t recognize—and they were marked as read, and replied to, _what?_

 **From:** Leatherhead  
I’m home from class now.

 **From:** Leatherhead  
What did you want to talk about?

 **From:** Leatherhead  
Is everything okay?

 **To:** Leatherhead  
This is Don. I have Mikeys phone, he cant talk now. There was an accident and were at the hospital, we dont know anything yet.

Mikey stared at the last text. Tried to scroll farther down to bring up any messages after that one, and the screen bounced back into place. That was the end of the thread. Mikey stared.

“Donnie,” he said, slowly. “Did you text Leatherhead?”

“Hm? Oh—yeah, I did. He was messaging while I was on the phone with April, so I let him know—”

“Is this _all_ you said?” Mikey asked over him, voice climbing into something close to a shout. His heart was pounding with secondhand hysteria as he spun in his seat to shove his screen at Donnie. “Tell me you called him or something, Don, _tell me_ that’s not all you said.”

“Mikey—”

“You can’t _do_ that to him, Donnie!” He shrugged away his brother’s arm and stood up sharply, pacing a few terse steps away and dialing Leatherhead’s number. It rang through to voicemail and he hung up and dialed again.

“Mikey.” Donnie turned him around by the shoulders. He didn’t seem ruffled by Mikey’s tone at all; he knelt right there, his hands firm on Mikey’s arms, like he would wait for whole hours for Mikey to start making sense. “Talk to me.”

Voicemail again. Rinse and repeat. He dialed and put the phone back against his ear, doing his best not to meet Donnie’s eyes in the meantime. Real, absolute fear felt like cold fingers threading through his ribcage, folding _unforgiving_ around his heart and squeezing uncomfortably, just this side of painful. _Oh, come on, Leatherhead, pick up!_

Voicemail. He dialed.

“L has PTSD,” he said quietly, blinking through a sudden sting of unbidden tears. He had no idea what Donnie’s face might have looked like, but his hands clenched hard around Mikey’s arms. “H- He lost his first parents in a car accident, and his adopted parents in a fire. He—you can’t just— _Leatherhead!”_

There was no answer on the other end of the line, but his call had been picked up at least, and if Mikey listened closely, covered his other ear with his sleeve-covered hand, he could just barely make out breathing. That meant Leatherhead was lucid, at the very least, that was _good._

“Hey buddy,” Mikey whispered, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry, Leatherhead. I’m—” _Okay,_ he almost said, but the word didn’t make it all the way out. He cleared his throat, and hated himself a little for getting all weepy _now_ when he hadn’t even cried for Raphael yet.

Because there was no reason to cry for Raph because Raph was _fine._

“I’m here,” he tried again. “I’m here, Leatherhead. I’m at the hospital, but um— Well, there _was_ an accident, but it— It’s Raphie, he’s—”

Fine. Fine, fine, just fine, he’s—

 _“I don’t know,”_ Mikey cried, and oh, god—once he started, it was so hard to stop, shoulders heaving with the force of the sobs that were shaking him now that he let them, tears dripping freely down his face. “I don’t know anything, Leatherhead, no one’s told me anything. It’s been _hours_ and I’m so _scared_.”

If he understood any of that, it would be a miracle. Mikey didn’t even understand it, the words falling out in a hiccupping, tumbling mess, and what a great pal he was—this was probably _such_ a comfort, this is exactly what his poor friend needed to hear after what Mikey could only guess was a pretty epic panic attack—he needed to suck it up and stop crying like a baby and be as collected as his big brothers were. For their sake, for Raph’s.

The phone was lifted out of his hand, and he was pulled in against Donnie’s chest. His brother talked quietly, just above his head, into the phone probably—Mikey couldn’t quite hear him over the pounding in his ears, and his own harsh breathing, the choked noises he was doing his best to swallow, muffled behind his hands.

Then he was led back to the stupid chair, and when they sat he was wrapped up in a warm cocoon of his brother’s arms. Still crying—god he was such a _baby—_ but when he risked a look at Donnie, he was startled to see Donnie crying, too.

“It’s okay to be scared, Mikey,” he said. “This is scary. I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for hurting Leatherhead, too. I didn’t know he—no, it doesn’t matter. He’s on his way, he’ll be here soon.” Mikey blinked at him, hardly daring to believe it, and Don tucked him close again, resting his cheek on the crown of Mikey’s head. Maybe for his sake, as much as for Mikey’s, because the arms around Mikey’s shoulders were trembling. “It’s okay to not be okay right now.”

The O’Neils and Casey burst in a handful of minutes after that, and Mikey extracted himself from Donnie when Donnie didn’t seem to know if it was okay to let him go or not. They both stood up to meet their honorary, extended family halfway, and it tugged at Mikey’s heart to see them so pale and scared. Mikey thought Donnie must have relayed most of the bare facts over the phone when he called them, because Mr. O’Neil made sure they were both okay, then went straight to the reception desk.

“Are you okay?” April asked quietly, stricken and worried, brushing Donnie’s hair back from his face. He nodded, but tightly, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. “I can’t believe—I mean, I just saw him. He was just over at our house, everything was just fine just a few hours ago.”

Casey had an arm around Mikey’s shoulders, but he reached over with his free hand to take one of April’s, squeezing tight. And Mikey regretted being there at all, all of a sudden, because it looked like Casey wanted to hold Donnie, too.

“He’ll be fine,” Casey said, voice low and hoarse, like it had come out through a grater, and his dark eyes were blazing; caught between concrete faith and awful, terrible grief. “You know Raph. He’ll wake up and start bitching about his bike first thing, you just wait.”

“Oh, no,” Mikey muttered, mostly to himself, reeling with additional, brand new sorrow. “What happened to it? He _loves_ that bike. He built it himself, at Ruth’s shop. The guys all helped, he really—”

“It doesn’t matter,” April said sharply, and Donnie lifted his head.

“Hey,” he said quietly, before Mikey even had time to react. April bit her lip and nodded.

“Sorry. Sorry, Mikey. You’re right, he really loves that bike.” She looked at him, tired and hurting, and still, somehow, contrite. “But it’s _just_ a bike.”

“It’s _Raph’s_ bike,” he argued, strangely mutinous. “He’ll want it fixed up for when he’s feeling better.”

No one said anything to that. Casey’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and Donnie’s next breath came out as a shuddering sigh. Mikey blinked, and wrapped his arms in tight around his center, pulling a little away from them.

They weren’t _talking_ to him.  They were seesawing back and forth between _knowing_ everything was gonna be _just fine_ and _not knowing_ _anything,_ and something really ugly and mean was beginning to yawn open wide inside him. But he didn’t want to ugly or mean, not now, when everyone was worried and upset and spending the night at the hospital for his big brother. They were scared, too, he knew that. Donnie had _cried._ They didn’t know what to do anymore than he did. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t know what to tell him. He _knew_ that.

So he wrapped himself up and pulled away. It was the smallest thing, but it telegraphed so easy, and April looked really upset.

“Oh, Mikey—”

“Michelangelo?”

Mikey turned sharply, feeling Casey’s arm fall away, and then heaved in a great, sobbing breath, so relieved it _hurt_. Leatherhead was framed in the doorway for all of a second, then he was striding forward, eating up the distance between them quickly. He looked pale and a little shaken, but his face was a mask of cool, calm composure, and it rocked Mikey to his _core,_ how unbelievably grateful he was that his friend was okay, that his friend was putting his own feelings of worry or relief or fear on the shelf for him, that his friend was _there._

He didn’t have time to do more than lift his arms before Leatherhead was folding around him and hefting him almost off his feet in a crushing embrace. Mikey hugged back _hard,_ as hard as he could, like he would drown if he let go.

“Sorry I scared you,” he muffled, blinking back more stupid, persistent tears. “And thanks for coming.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” Leatherhead said quietly.


	36. To Pieces - Part 4

It was a little after two o'clock when Leo finally came back, and the first thing he said was, "He's okay."

And Leo looked shaky and pale, almost _ghost-like_ under the sterile, fluorescent lights of the hospital, but he was smiling and the blue of his eyes was bright with exhausted relief—and April burst into tears at the same time Casey whooped in flagrant disregard for waiting room decorum, while Donnie covered his face with both hands and did his best to breathe evenly.

"He got out of surgery about an hour ago," Leo continued, crossing the room to them at a steady pace. "Your dad is talking to the doctors right now, Ape, he'll be back in a little bit."

Mikey didn't realize how hard he was squeezing Leatherhead's hand until Leo was kneeling in front of his chair, and he had no clue he was going to say anything until the words fell out of his mouth almost on their own.

"He's really okay? You really mean it, Leo?"

"Of course I do," his big brother said gently, running fond fingers through his curly hair. "I wouldn't lie to you, Mikey."

If Leatherhead felt Mikey's grip on his hand begin to tremble, he kindly didn't mention it.

"Then why did it take so long? You were gone _forever,_ and all you have to say now is _'he's okay'?_ " Mikey asked, and hated how loud his voice was in the otherwise quiet room. Hated that the room was beginning to blur just a tiny bit as his eyes started to sting. Hated that he was practically shouting at _Leo_ , of all people, when all he _really_ wanted to do was hug him for about a hundred years and somehow start to feel safe again. And when Leo didn't answer him right away—just sat there looking at him, without speaking—Mikey's underwhelming courage failed him, and he tore his eyes away to stare at his shaking hands. "S—Sorry. Sorry, I just—"

"Oh, Mikey." Leo sounded sad. "Come here."

And Mikey found himself trading Leatherhead's arm for both of Leo's, burying his face in the warm hollow of Leo's neck and shoulder, and following Donnie's quiet lead, trying to keep his breathing even so he didn't lose himself to hysteria.

"Raph is _okay,"_ Leo repeated firmly, for the combined benefit of _all_ of his siblings. "He had lost a lot of blood by the time the EMTs got there, and it was touch and go for awhile, but he didn't suffer any brain damage. He was wearing his helmet, that—that made all the difference." Clearing his throat, Leo continued, "They're going to keep him in the ICU for a few more days, to monitor his progress, but Karai thinks he'll be home by the end of the week."

"So soon?" April asked hoarsely, looking at Leo with red eyes. Leo nodded.

"He went straight into surgery for a compound fracture in his left leg. Broken fibula and tibia. Open compounds are dangerous because of the risk of serious infection, but our doctors got to him before that could become an issue. Once I got here, I could answer any questions they had about allergies and medications he may have been on, while they débrided and irrigated his leg, and gave them the go-ahead to do—you know, whatever they needed to do. They put two screws and a rod in his leg. It sounds bad," he added quickly, when April looked a little green, "but it's perfectly common. It's called 'internal fixation', it's just a long piece of metal that sits in the hollow part of the bone, to stabilize the fracture and keep the pieces of the bone aligned. And aside from that—other than a few broken ribs, and a broken arm on the same side, some road rash and a few broken fingers—he's going to be just fine. I _swear_ to you," Leo added, leaning back and cupping Mikey's face in hand, to meet his eyes unflinchingly, "he's okay."

And okay. Okay, maybe Mikey just needed to hear it from Leo. He didn't understand his sudden temper, how quick he was to lash out at all these people he loved; but he could _always_ count on Leo. And Leo did this stuff for a living, he and Karai were physical therapists at this hospital and knew all about getting better and broken bones. If Leo said—if Leo _swore_ —that Raph was okay, then Mikey knew beyond shadow of a doubt that Raph _was._

So he nodded, and felt a little less like the weight of his worry was going to crush him, and asked hopefully, "Can we go see him?"

"Mikey..." April started, in the tone of voice Mikey commonly associated with the beginning of bad news. But Leo stood, and April trailed off at whatever she saw on his face.

"He's still in the recovery room right now, but we can wait for him," he said. "If he's still awake at that point, he'll definitely be groggy, and he'll probably go right back to sleep. But you can see him." Delighted, Mikey turned to aim a grin at Donnie, who grinned right back, only a little wobbly. "Um—this hospital is strict about it's visiting restrictions," Leo went on, sounding uncertain for the first time since he joined them, and apologetic. "It's family only for now, until Karai and I can—"

"No, that's fine," Casey said quickly, giving Don's hand a quick squeeze. "You guys go see 'im."

"If you're _sure_ that he's alright, we'll probably go home with dad when he gets back," April said slowly, studying Leo's face like she was waiting for some shadow of betrayal or something at their apparent abandoning of the little Hamato clan. "Since there's school in the morning, and finals are coming up—"

"Absolutely. I feel so bad that you had to come out here like this in the first place," Leo said immediately. "He really will be just fine. You can ask Mr. O'Neil, he probably knows more than I do at this point. And you can come see him tomorrow."

The atmosphere in the room was lighter by spades. Donnie was even smiling as he stood, so shaky with relief he didn't quite make it to his feet without Casey's help, and Mikey didn't think he was imagining it when Casey pressed his lips to Don's hair. Similarly, April kissed his cheek, at almost the same time, and then Mikey was sandwiched between them in a hug he didn't feel like he particularly deserved, after his sorry attitude.

Then it was Leo's turn to be hugged and supported, which he so obviously deserved, so Mikey broke apart as his older siblings started talking in quiet voices, and took the few steps back to Leatherhead.

"Looks like I freaked out for no reason," he said, in a halfhearted attempt at a joke. "I am like, _legitimately,_ so sorry for ruining your night, dude. Feel free to not answer my calls for like a week as payback, okay?"

"Well, then I'd just be punishing myself," LH said, with that lopsided turn to his mouth that reminded Mikey of the day they met. Holy _wow,_ Mikey did not deserve him. "I'm glad I could be of help to you, after all you've done for me. I've already taken my finals this semester—winter break for us is a little earlier than it is for you—so I'm free. Just call me when you need a friend, and I'll be here."

Mikey's smile in return hurt a little bit, but he meant every inch of it. "I _always_ need a friend. I'm totally useless without 'em."

"That remains to be seen," LH said kindly, and gave a knowing tug on Mikey's borrowed sleeve.

Leo and Donnie were waiting for him patiently when he finally extracted himself from LH's bear hug, and Mikey joined them by the door with a little wave goodbye at Casey and April. Don put an arm around his shoulders, and Leo led the way down the hall.

"It's so easy to fear the worst," Donnie confided quietly as they walked. "Waiting rooms suck all the hope right out of you, something about them just— So by the time you hear the good news, you've already been bracing yourself for the bad. I don't blame Mikey for biting your head off when you got here, Leo, I might have done if he hadn't beat me to it."

He gave Mikey a little jostle to lighten the words, let him know it was a joke, and since Leo was smiling wryly and didn't seem the least bit hurt or annoyed, Mikey huffed out a tepid laugh. Honestly, he didn't know what was _up_ with himself lately—it wasn't like him to pick fights, not really. That was definitely closer to Raph's territory, even Donnie's, but not _Mikey's._

Or...maybe it _wasn't_ really so surprising. He had started a scene with those Dragons a few weeks ago, in that Chinatown alleyway, over poor little Klunk, and he had yelled at his teammates over Bradford, and _fought_ with Donnie over Leatherhead— _twice_ , even, if Mikey counted yelling at him in the waiting room just a few hours ago. And he had taken stuff out on Leo a little bit, too, and even got mad at April.

Wherever this sudden, seedy temper was coming from, maybe it was a long time coming. Maybe it _wasn't_ so sudden, after all. Mikey wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Okay, here we are," Leo said suddenly, and Mikey blinked out of his mini-reverie to find themselves standing at two big, swinging power doors. They were labeled in red, in English and Spanish both, _"Intensive Care Unit."_ They were already canting open, Leo's hand resting on the button on the wall at his side, but they weren't moving through. Leo was looking at Mikey. "Turn off your phone, buddy."

"Oh! Oh, sure." It was still in Mikey's hand in his hoodie pocket, like a secret security blanket. He withdrew it for his brothers to see, holding the power button until the lock screen displayed a little goodbye message and went dark. He waved it at Leo, then stuck it in his back pocket, and Leo led the way in without further ado.

It was bright and busy inside the ICU. There were a handful of doctors and nurses at the circular desk in the middle, and a lot of people moving back and forth between rooms and medicine carts. For the most part, everyone wearing a pair of scrubs had their eyes glued to a clipboard, or they were talking with stressed, rumpled-looking visitors in quiet, pacifying voices.

There was a security guard by the door, but Leo was wearing his I.D. badge, and greeted the guard by name as they strode right past. A few of the medical staff they passed looked up, but not all of them, and sooner than Mikey thought, they were standing outside a sliding glass door, numbered "4".

"This is Raph's room," Leo said, sliding the door open manually and herding his little brothers inside, out of the way of the hustle of the ICU. "He'll be back from the PACU in just a little bit."

There were two thin armchairs next to the spot where the bed should have been, and a loveseat in the corner. The rest of the room was taken up by complicated-looking machines and digital displays, and Mikey scooted an unconscious step closer to his brothers, grateful when Don's arm squeezed a little tighter around his shoulders.

"There's a lot of stuff in here I could mess up really bad," he said, staring at the unfamiliar technology like it might bite him. "I don't want to mess anything up, Leo, maybe I should go back to the waiting room."

Leo gave Don and Mikey a push toward the armchairs, guiding them like skittish sheep. "Just sit here," he said, not unkindly. "You can't possibly mess anything up if you just sit here."

Don let go of Mikey to sit down, then surged right to his feet again, those sticky eyes of his catching sight of a clipboard hanging on the wall. "Are those his charts?"

"You aren't allowed to look at those," Leo said carefully, and Don didn't so much as blink.

"But you're his attending physical therapist, aren't you? So _you're_ allowed."

"I'm only an assistant. And I'm not on the clock."

"Leo, for the love of—"

The door behind Leo opened again with a wooshing sigh, and they all turned as a pair of nurses carefully maneuvered a large, wheeled bed back inside. It was shaped funny, not all flat and stiff like the hospital beds Mikey had seen in movies; it had a sort of broken Z-shape to it, and big side-rails, and soft-looking blankets and a pillow that looked like a giant marshmallow.

And Raph. It had Raph, too.

Mikey jumped up next to Don, crowding into his arm and doing his best to peer over the side-rail without moving closer, because the nurses were bustling around hooking Raph up to stuff that made some of the screens around the bed light up and beep, and Mikey desperately didn't want to be in the way.

From what he could see, Raph's face looked a little scuffed up, and there were some bruises that disappeared down his neck and under the collar of the seafoam green hospital gown. Both his arms were cut up and covered in angry red welts, dressed lightly in thin gauze, and one of them was casted, and cradled in a tight sling, folded firmly against his chest—so he wouldn't move it while he was all disoriented and hurt himself, Mikey guessed. A few of Raph's fingers were in little splints, and his left leg, the broken one, was in a long cast, too. The gown covered any other hurts there might have been—and Leo _had_ mentioned some broken ribs—but for the most part...

"He looks— He looks okay," Mikey said, hardly daring to believe it. "He's come home from fights before looking worse than this."

Don laughed, and it sounded a little watery. "You're right, he has. Trust _Raph_ to do more damage to Raph than an SUV could."

Leo leaned over Raph from the opposite side of the bed, pushing a hand through Raph's short hair. His face was full and fond and soft, doting in a way Raph never allowed for too long, and Mikey dared to scoot a little closer—darted a quick look at the nurses, to make sure it was okay—then closed the rest of the distance to his brother's side.

"He might be out of it for awhile," one of the nurses explained. "Everyone reacts to general anesthesia a little differently. But even if he isn't fully conscious, he'll be able to hear you. So talk to him. Keep it simple, but let him know you're here."

"He already knows that," Mikey said, hesitantly reaching over the rails to touch his brother's arm. Relief flooded his heart, and filled up his chest cavity like a plugged sink, because Raph's arm felt as solid as ever. "Where else would we be?"

The nurses left after a few more minutes, and one of them lingered to talk to Leo for a little bit, and hugged him hard around the shoulders before he made his way out. In the back of his mind, Mikey was abruptly, absurdly glad Leo worked here. All the people taking care of Raph were Leo's friends, so they would take care of him really well.

"I thought the colored fiberglass was for children," Don said after a moment, running gossamer fingers over the bright red cast on Raph's leg. It matched the red of his arm cast, and Leo's smile back was more amused than anything else.

"I asked them to make an exception. He's going to be impossible to deal with for the next few months as it is, we might as well make it easier on ourselves where we can."

He was still stroking Raph's hair as he spoke, and Mikey rested his chin on the side-rail. "Will he be hurting when he wakes up?"

"They've got him connected to a PAC," Leo said, and smiled crookedly at Mikey's uncomprehending expression. "That stands for "patient-controlled analgesia." It's an infusion pump that sends pain meds through this IV drip right into Raph's bloodstream, whenever he needs it." Leo pointed out the particular tube, and Mikey followed it with his eyes back to a little box beside Raph's bed. It had a little screen and a bunch of buttons, and Mikey was glad Leo knew what it was, because Mikey would never have guessed. "All he has to do is press a button on the little remote."

"If he isn't lucid right away, he might accidentally overdose," Don said, looking alarmed, but Leo shook his head.

"It's programmed so he can't. It'll only release a dose within a certain parameter. And Raph's going to be monitored very carefully on top of that. We're gonna take good care of him."

And Donnie relaxed, immediately assuaged the way Mikey knew he would be. If there was _anyone_ they could trust to look after Raphael, it was obviously Leo.

"Man, I wish our elevator worked back home," Mikey said abruptly, eyeing Raph's leg cast. "It's not gonna be a picnic getting him up those five flights of stairs. He's gonna be mad he needs help _anyway_. Can you even imagine?"

"Oh, god," Donnie said in a burst of helpless laughter. "I hadn't even _thought_ of that."

"Remind me to call the landlord," Leo said wryly, while his little brothers muffled chuckles; and at about that moment, Raph's eyes fluttered open. Mikey held his breath, and Don went stone-stiff beside him—it seemed so sudden! For all that they were sitting there waiting for him to wake up, they sure weren't _prepared_ for it. But Leo just resumed stroking his hair and didn't miss a beat with his warm smile, while Raph's muddy green eyes traced the touch back to Leo, and struggled to focus on his face.

"Hey, Raphie. Are you with us?"

It didn't seem like he was going to answer. He just blinked a few times, slowly, like his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds, and then looked past Leo at the hospital room. He didn't quite make it all the way to Don and Mikey's side of the bed—it looked like moving his head was more effort than it was worth—before his eyes moved back to Leonardo.

And he may have been tired and sore, but he'd been in that recovery room after surgery for long enough that the bulk of the anesthesia must have worn off; because he was lucid enough to say, "'m so sorry."

"Hey," Leo said firmly, cupping Raph's battered face in his free hand. "Don't do that."

But then Raph's face was crumpling, grief folding him right down the middle, lips pressing into a thin, deep frown as tears dripped down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, his one good hand forming a pathetic fist in the thin blanket draped over his waist. "'m—really sorry, Leo."

Don was silent as he folded down the bed's adjustable side-rail on their side; as soon as it was out of the way, Mikey was climbing up. There was plenty of free space next to Raph—or enough space for Mikey, anyway, as small as he was—and he was careful not to bump any of the tubes and the wires. He was on Raph's good side, the side without any broken bones, and dared to put his head on Raph's shoulder.

He thought he knew why Raph was apologizing. It seemed like ages ago that Mikey overheard that budget talk, listening from the hallway through a crack in the door. Money was tight, always so tight, even if he'd never been fully aware of that until recently. Leo got a good job when he finished school, but if Mikey knew anything about hospitals and ambulance rides and surgeries, it's that all of it was _expensive._ And Raph worked hard for their family too, every day after school and long shifts on the weekends, and Raph knew more about their budget and cost of living than Mikey did and maybe even Donnie, too. And Raph knew, better than Mikey wished he did, what his accident was going to cost them.

And knowing that looked like it was breaking his heart.

But Leo just held him, smoothing the tears away with the pads of his fingers, and said, "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't cry, little brother, we're going to take care of you. And we're going to be just fine."

Up until that very last part, it looked like Leo meant every word.


	37. To Pieces - Part 5

It was kind of hard to focus on anything, knowing his brother was in the hospital. Mikey flipped idly through his math book, cheek propped up in his hand, and didn't even try to give off the vibe that he was paying attention.

Leo got Donnie and Mikey out of school for a few days, after a long call to the principle to explain the circumstances, and April and Casey were happy to collect their homework for them and bring it along when they stopped in to visit. But Wednesday rolled around all too soon, which was the day they had all compromised on as the day they stopped camping in Raph's hospital room and rejoined society.

It was just kind of _really hard_ to leave him, even when, by that time, Raph could stay awake and glower and complain about everything without wincing each time he moved. He put up a really good front, acting like he wasn't in pain basically all the time—Mikey could appreciate that on some level. He'd been there before, acting okay so his brothers wouldn't worry. But that didn't mean he was going to let Raph get away with it, not when he'd just been hit by a _car._

If Leo didn't work at the hospital, and didn't have a bunch of awesome coworkers willing to pop in on Raph when Leo was too busy to, then Mikey probably would have dug in his heels about going back to school at _all_.

A tap on his arm drew him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up into kind gray eyes. Renet was turned around in her seat and watching him with a worried frown—they sat together ever since they became _math bros,_ it made passing notes much easier—and once Mikey looked at her, she whispered, "You okay?"

Word spread pretty quickly in high school, not that Mikey had any idea how. April might have told a few of her friends what had happened, or Casey maybe, or maybe the principle spread the word; but by the time he and Donnie came back to school on Wednesday, all of their friends and most of their classmates swarmed them with worry and condolence and questions.

Maybe it should have been nice, or sweet, but mostly it was kind of _annoying_.

Except for Renet. She was his buddy. And her question and that concerned look on her face only stirred something warm and grateful in the pit of Mikey's stomach, instead of the irritation he didn't have to look far for these days.

So Mikey smiled crookedly and gave her a thumbs up, hoping he looked at least halfway convincing when all he _felt_ was tired and impatient. _Four hours to go_ until he got to see Raph again, that was basically forever. Ugh. Renet didn't seem moved by his lackluster response in the slightest, but their teacher was walking up and down the rows of desks to check on their work and Renet had to turn around before she could say anything else.

Mikey went back to his distracted turning of pages, algebra the farthest thing from his mind. All the numbers kept reminding him of _money_ , and how much of that his family didn't have. His brothers hadn't said anything new on the subject—with Raph so weak and groggy, and Leo trying to juggle work and his little brothers' extended stay in the hospital, and Don devouring every article on WebMD that had anything to do with car crash-related injuries, Mikey could understand why another budget talk wasn't the first thing on their list of things to talk about. It wasn't like last time, they weren't _excluding_ him—they just... hadn't talked about it. And maybe, a little bit, they didn't _want_ to talk about it.

But Raph had been really upset, that first time he woke up after surgery. Mikey didn't think he'd ever forget how upset Raph had been. Raph had _cried,_ and apologized over and over—and maybe in part that was the drugs and the trauma and the stress piling together on top of each other, making him overemotional and distressed and confused. But Mikey was certain that he was at least a _little_ really, honestly hurt.

And Leo had told him not to worry, it was okay, it wasn't his fault. But there was something _telling_ in Leo's eyes that night, something that hadn't been entirely truthful—something he wasn't exactly willing to say out loud. And so Mikey did a little research of his own. On his phone, in a very unsuspicious manner, because at any given point his brothers would just assume he was texting one of his friends. (One of the benefits of having lots of friends.)

First of all, insurance was _confusing._ That was exactly the first thing Mikey learned. There were a bunch of different kinds, and things like _payouts_ and _premiums,_ and altogether it looked like just _having_ insurance cost an arm and a leg. Mikey hoped that Leo didn't have to pay hundreds of dollars for his; if he got it through work, then they might have given him a deal, right?

So yeah, he hadn't really learned very much about that—it was a hard thing to Google, when he didn't know anything about Leo's coverage, and when the hospital website was pretty vague about their employee benefits. Mikey had gritted his teeth in frustration, put his phone down hard enough that the nurse in the room had given him a quick look, and then after a minute, scooped the cell right back up again to cast a wider net.

And that's how he ended up scrolling through tumblr and reddit, reading people's first-hand accounts of hospital stays, and all the _horror stories_ that came with the bill—hundreds and hundreds of dollars for a lot of really, really stupid stuff. The prices were so inflated it was insane, and for a minute it had felt like Mikey had swallowed _ice,_ because Raph took an ambulance to the hospital, and he'd already been there for two days, and that was already close to a thousand dollars _flat._ On top of the surgery, the medicine, the anesthesiologist, the implants...

Mikey had taken a breath, hesitated—then looked up the average cost of in-patient care per day.

And then he had looked it up a few different times, worded a few different ways, because _no way_ was it going to cost _two thousand dollars_ a _day._ There had to be some mistake. People didn't have a _choice_ when they came to a hospital, they were very sick or very hurt, they didn't _want_ or _choose_ to be there—why would it cost so much? Who decided _that?_

Mikey didn't have any talent with numbers, but he could remember all those figures he had looked up with sick vividness. Mikey didn't know much about Leo's insurance, but—they were pretty poor, weren't they? Leo's insurance couldn't have been that great, if they didn't even have cable T.V. at home.

Mikey put his head in his hands, his next breath shuddering a little, ignoring the lesson happening up front on the whiteboard. It was okay, it was okay. Leo said it would be okay. Leo always took care of them, and at every unfortunate twist and turn of their lives, Leo always made things better.

But—Leo couldn't do everything. And Mikey was beginning to feel so, so bad about depending on him so much. It was what he was used to, and it was Leo raised him to do, but that didn't mean it was _fair_. Leo had been so scared when Karai first called them, when they first arrived at the hospital after she did, he was like a whole different person. And if things had turned out any worse—if Raph... if Raph _hadn't_ been okay—then Mikey wasn't sure Leo would have been okay, either, ever again.

Leo couldn't do everything. He needed help. Donnie had that paid IT internship through the school, and if Mikey knew his brother, which he definitely did, then he knew Donnie would be gunning for more hours—as many of them as he could get. And Mikey... well, Mikey was fourteen for a few more months, but that didn't mean he was _useless._

"I need a job," he told Woody at lunch. Donnie had sequestered himself in the library, and Mikey certainly wasn't hungry enough to go eat on his own, so he had slipped outside and around the back of the old band hall where kids went to sneak cigarettes. Woody and Mondo were there among a few other people, no surprise, and so was Timmy even though Timmy didn't smoke. Mikey bumped fists with Tim on his way past, and waved to Mondo, but it was Woody he climbed up to sit beside on the rusted railings. And his Irish friend gave him a sideways look, as he rubbed his cigarette out on the wall.

"A job? You're just a kid."

"Yeah, but I need one anyway," Mikey retorted, and Woody had the look on his face of someone who had just mentally slapped themselves.

"Oh, shit. Of course you do, Mikester, that's my bad," he said, looking apologetic. Woody hadn't _forgotten_ about Raph. He had actually texted Mikey on Monday, about a hundred times, to make sure he was okay. Almost the whole team had, and it had warmed Mikey up to the very top of his heart. It made him smile a little now, too. "The American health care system is heckin' _flawed._ You gotta be a millionaire not to need some serious cash after a hospital stay."

"I know, it's insane. I had no idea," Mikey said glumly, rubbing a hand through his hair. It looked like rain outside, the sky overcast and gray, and he was a little chilly despite his combo of jacket-and-Leatherhead's-hoodie. "I just really wanna help out. I know that like, _no one_ is gonna hire anyone my age, but... I'm tired of bein' no use, y'know?"

At that, Tim looked absolutely crestfallen, like Mikey had just done something personally terrible to him. "You're not no use, Mike."

"Thanks, Timmy."

"Shut up, Tim," Mondo said, then added, "For real though, Mike."

"Thanks, Mondo."

Woody wrapped an arm around Mikey's shoulders, smiling at him through the shadows in his eyes. "Hey. Ol' Woody's got you covered, amigo. My uncle Rupert owns that pizzeria down in Little Italy, yeah? And he's been hounding me about doing deliveries for him, after the holidays are over. I'll see if he'll take you on, too. You could like, take orders over the phone and buss tables and do dishes, that kinda stuff. Lowkey."

Mikey nudged him with an elbow, grinning widely for what felt like the first time in years. "Dude, you mean it? You'd ask him for me?"

"Heck yeah, Mike. The Queens' Vikings soccer varsity dudes stick together."

"Bro," Mondo said, through a curl of acrid smoke, "we need a shorter slogan."

* * *

On his way to Psych, Mikey stopped at his locker. Just stopped there, with his hand on the rigged dial, hyper-aware of his big brother's locker right next to his.

He cut a glance down the hall, and the digital clock mounted on the wall above the B wing doorway. Just a few minutes until the passing period was over. This day had officially taken forever, and it wasn't even _over_ yet. Three more hours until he could get out of here, and go back to Raph, and spend another night in a super uncomfortable plastic chair.

On a whim, he opened his locker and shoved his bag inside, books and all, shutting it again with a sharp slam. He didn't want to go to Psych, or the rest of his stupid classes. His brother was in the hospital, and the lunatic that put him there was still in the city somewhere, and his family was hurting—why did Mikey have to be at school?

"Easy, Hamato. The locker didn't do anything to you."

Mikey turned to find Bradford behind him, hands shrugged into the pockets of his jeans. The football player's face was still pretty messed up, but it looked like he'd iced it, at least. The Animaniacs bandaid on his cheek screamed Xever, and made Mikey smile.

"Hey, Brad," he said, and Brad relaxed a little, smiling back.

"Hey. You look like hell."

"Thanks," Mikey said dryly, rubbing a sleeve over his face a little self-consciously. He looked as good as he felt, then. Nice. Bradford watched him for a minute, then looked over his shoulder down the hall.

"I have early out today, for practice," he said, slowly. "If you're planning on skipping the rest of the day—which is just what it looks like, since you ditched all your shit—then I can give you a ride home. This is probably the last place you wanna be." He hesitated, rubbed an arm awkwardly, then added, "I heard about Raphael. I don't like the guy, but he's your brother, so—I'm sorry about what happened to him. Really."

And like with Renet, Bradford didn't rile up that itchy, unhappy feeling most everyone else did. Mikey shrugged one shoulder, and didn't let his half-grin go away, and said, "He's okay. We're taking good care of him. Thanks, Brad." The bell rang, signaling them late for class, and Mikey said, "If you're serious about giving me a ride, d'you think you could drop me off at the hospital instead?"

Bradford nodded, and gestured with a sweep of one broad hand, and led the way at an unhurried pace down the hall. They walked in silence mostly, Mikey itching to get his phone out and trying to wait until they made it to the parking lot, and they were halfway down the athletic hall when Bradford spoke up again.

"Mondo told Xee that you were lookin' for a job," he said abruptly, and Mikey blinked. It was so easy to forget Mondo and Xever were friends.

"Yeah, I am. I thought I'd ask around first, before embarrassing myself in the application process."

"That makes sense." Was that a _smirk,_ Chris Bradford? "But, uh—my mom's been looking for some help in her shop. I'm busy with practice a lot, but I know the soccer season's over, so—if you want, I could—"

" _Yes,"_ Mikey said enthusiastically. "Dude, yes! That is so rad, Brad, _thank_ you!"

Bradford looked a little uncomfortable, nodding a quick, "Yeah, no problem," but there was definitely a pleased pink in his battered face. And Mikey was quickly deciding this day didn't suck, after all, because his friends were awesome.

"Hey—that rhymed. Rad Brad. I'm so calling you that, now."

"Yeah, feel free not to."

* * *

In the car, Mikey texted Leatherhead that he was on his way to the hospital. If his friend thought it was odd that he was out of school so early, he didn't mention it; only agreed to meet him there in a few minutes. As he slid his phone back into his pocket, Mikey thought it was kind of ironic—the last time he'd been in Brad's car had been the day he met Leatherhead for the first time. And now he was friends with them both.

Who would have thought?

"No _shortcuts_ this time," Bradford said suddenly, like a mind-reader. And after a single, stunned moment—did he _really_ make that joke?—Mikey burst out laughing. His laugh muscles were a little rusty, but man, it felt good.

* * *

Bradford dropped him off in the back, with a promise to text him later with his mom's verdict, and Mikey waved until his car turned the corner. Then he made his way in through the EMT entrance, waving hello at the paramedics he'd gotten to know in the last few days.

Sally Pride was clocking in, buttoning up her uniform as he rounded the corner, and lit up when she saw him.

" _Mike!_ How are you, little dude?"

"Hi, Sally!" He bounded forward for a hug, and she wrapped him up in strong arms. She had a short, bleach-blond mohawk and gold eyes, offset by smooth brown skin, and she was solid against him, like she could take on a tank. She was the one who saved Raphael that night, and she was so cool. "Do you have a long shift tonight?"

"Sure do, I'm here till five in the morning." She leaned back and smiled, ruffling his hair. "So I'll bring some treats by Raph's room later, sound good?"

"Sounds awesome. Also, please don't tell Leo I'm here," he added, as sweetly as he could manage, and Sally released him, stepping back and looking theatrically in another direction.

"Tell Leo _who's_ here?"

She was seriously so cool. Mikey darted around her with a grin, and waved at her partner Ray as he hurried past. He pushed open the employees door carefully with a quick look around the hallway—no Leo. He stepped out and made his way toward Raph's room at a brisk pace, hurrying through a few more texts before he got to the point where he'd have to put his phone away.

A few of the nurses greeted him, and a few more looked exasperated he was there during school hours, and at one point, he almost ran straight into Karai. She froze, looking at him over her clipboard, and he blinked at her like a deer caught in the headlights. Then she rolled her eyes, more fond than anything else, and gestured for him to run along.

Yup, Karai was cool, too. Leo was lucky she liked him.

Mikey was in pretty good spirits by the time he made it to Raph's room. They'd moved him out of ICU last night, which meant he was getting better, and his brothers didn't even have to worry that that mean he wouldn't get as much attention from the nursing staff, because he was Leo's little brother, so he got more attention than he really needed. Cheerfully, Mikey pushed open the door, and saved his hello for when he was sure Raph was awake, and Leo wasn't there to—

He froze in the doorway, hands still on the polished wood.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, and it came out harsh and sharp, and the hulking figure beside Raph's bed spun guiltily around. Something hot and hysterical was forcing its way up Mikey's throat, an uncomfortable knot of not-anger that made his arms shake. "Why do you keep showing up out of _nowhere_?"

"I just—wanted to see him," Slash said lamely. And it was his _normal_ voice, not his Boogeyman voice, but Mikey had heard them both and didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. He moved into the room quickly, skirting Slash as widely as he could without being obvious about it, and stationed himself by Raph's bed.

His brother was sleeping, tight lines of pain on his face. Mikey felt a surge of _protect him_ that he'd never felt before. It reminded him of how he'd felt holding little Klunk for the first time in that alley, only magnified to a thousand times larger than life.

"Well, you've seen him," he said shortly, trying to keep his voice down. "How did you even get in here?"

"I told the front desk I was family," Slash said, adopting a small smile. "I just wanted to—to see him. To apologize."

"Like I just said, you've seen him. So why don't you—" And he stopped. And stood there, looking up into Slash's eerie turquoise eyes without a trace of fear, comprehension dawning slowly, from far away. "Apologize for what?"

And Slash blinked, and waffled back a step, but Mikey followed him with a step forward. Disbelieving, almost.

"Apologize for _what?"_

"I didn't—I didn't mean to. It was like I wasn't even there, I didn't know I—I wouldn't hurt him on purpose, Mikey, never."

"You mean like you hurt Leo?" Mikey said numbly. "Like you tried to hurt me?" His hands had curled into fists, but he wasn't sure when they had. He was trembling. He had never been angry like this before, angry in a way that ripped him open and made him bleed, angry in a way that made him want to grab and tear and _hurt._ "You didn't mean to hit him with a _car?_ It was an accident when you tried to _kill him?"_

"Mikey—"

"Don't call me that!" Mikey _shoved_ him, hard, throwing every ounce of muscle memory and six years of trained strength into the move, not even gratified when Slash staggered back into the other hospital bed. Not even gratified when Slash looked at him with wide, blue-green eyes, like Mikey was a terrible stranger. "Get out! You aren't _family,_ you were never _family._ Family doesn't do this!"

"Michelangelo?"

Mikey didn't look away from Slash for a second, not even at the sound of Leatherhead's voice in the doorway.

"Get out," he said again, venomously, taking another forward step, shaking violently with the urge to _fight_ this giant man who had lurked in his nightmares for so long, who had hurt his family. "Get out!"

There was no fight in Slash—he gave Leatherhead a wide berth, circling around to the door and ducking out of it without a backwards glance—and then Mikey was wrapped in Leatherhead's hardened arms, and his friend was pressing a broad hand to the front of his chest.

"Breathe, Michelangelo," he said, kind voice calm and smooth. "He's gone. Try to breathe. You'll wake your brother if you don't calm down, my friend."

"He— _he's_ the one, Leatherhead, he—" His face was wet, eyes dripping stupid tears, and he rubbed them away with the sleeves of the hoodie he had never returned, still panting harshly for breath and angry all the way down to his bones. "He—I _hate_ him. I _hate_ him!"

Leatherhead looked sad for some reason, eyes shadowed the way Woody's had been, but he nodded, and smoothed the messy curls back from Mikey's forehead, and didn't ask any questions even though he probably had at least a hundred. And Mikey cried, because he couldn't stop; crying out of so much frustration and so much rage and so much wounded love, pillowing his face in his hands and muffling, over and over again, "I hate him, I hate him, _I hate him."_


	38. Our Broken Bridges Didn't Burn - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I forgot to before, I want to take a moment to thank everyone who voted for Problem Child in the 2015 TMNT Fanfic Competition. It won first place in the "Best Michelangelo" category, and I'm still utterly thrilled about that. :)
> 
> I don't often make author's notes, so while I'm here, I'd also like to thank you for all your reviews both here and on FFnet, and all the asks and fanart and general support I get for this AU over on tumblr. You guys make this such a blast! (Btw, my URL is taizi, and there's all sorts of AU extras and info in the "problem child" tag on my blog—feel free to join the conversation!)
> 
> And one more additional little note: this will be Problem Child's very last arc. In just a few chapters, this ride will have finally ended. I hope you all stick it out with me!

Turns out Donnie had the same ideas about school versus Raph that Mikey did, because he showed up maybe twenty minutes later; and he didn't look too surprised at seeing Mikey back in his usual, uncomfortable plastic chair.

"You could have _told me_ you were gonna skip the last half of the day," Donnie said with no small amount of exasperation, shrugging off his bulging bookbag and stepping quietly around Raph's bed to the free chair at Mikey's side. "I would have come with _..._ you..." He trailed off, looking from Leatherhead's grim expression to Mikey's _lack_ of one. He drew up short of sitting down, searching Mikey's face. "What happened? What's wrong?"

But the anger had faded, by that point, and he just sat there, like something brittle and paperthin and precariously balanced. One stiff wind, one wrong move, and he would topple over and tumble apart.

"Slash was here," Leatherhead answered for him, grave voice low. "Michelangelo is—still shaken."

The silence in the next moment was full, almost palpable, like something Mikey could have cupped in his hands and held. Then Donatello's bag hit the floor, and it was a miracle he didn't wake up Raph when he burst with, "He was _here?_ What—how? Why? What did he _want?"_

And Mikey tried to swallow down the hateful bitters in the back of his throat, but he could still taste them on his tongue. He was all torn up inside, and aching, and it felt like it did all those weeks ago, that rainy night at the park when everything he knew was wrong and the people he loved made him feel stupid and unnecessary.

But a quick glance at his brother proved Donatello looked ready to crumble, too. Don worried too much and too hard for one singular person, and he was graduating early and had so much work to do, and Mikey was pretty sure Don hadn't been getting any more sleep than _he_ had—so certainly not enough sleep for a genius brain like his. It showed, too, unnatural color creeping into the very edges of Don's pale face from sheer exhaustion.

So Mikey squared his shoulders, and took a steadying breath. Breathing past those new, dark, ugly parts of himself, making them smaller, so he could reach around them to a much more familiar, soft-and-warm feeling.

"He said he just wanted to see him," Mikey said, and sounded more like himself than he thought he would. Heartened by that, he released his death-grip on Leatherhead's hand and grinned a little when his friend made a show of shaking the circulation back into his fingers. "And he said he wanted to _apologize."_

Donatello blinked once, twice, three times. Mikey knew that blank face only meant his mind was moving too quickly for his expression to even try to keep up, and he'd figure out what Mikey had even _faster._ Then, sure enough, "Apologize for _what?"_

"Yeah," Mikey said slowly. "That's what I asked him. He didn't answer me, and I—accused him of stuff, and he didn't deny anything. Then I pushed him."

"You _pushed_ him? I thought you were scared of him."

Mikey scowled, like a knee-jerk reaction, and his fists folded too-tight into the knees of his jeans. "I _hate_ him."

He could tell that surprised his big brother—he knew Don would be thinking something like _'what, that's not like you_ '—and it _wasn't_ , but he didn't want to think about it too hard. And neither did Donnie, apparently, because after one long minute, he just sort of nodded past that, and said, "Well—as long as he didn't hurt you. God, we'll never be _rid_ of this guy, will we?" He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand up funny, and added, "I have to go talk to Leo. LH, are you going to stay?"

"Yes."

"Good." He really looked relieved. "Mikey, keep an eye on Raph, okay?"

"Okay. Don't tell Leo I skipped school."

"He has more to worry about than that, believe me."

Mikey believed him.

By the time Raph woke up, Leo and Don had come and gone again, and so had Karai and a handful of nurses and a doctor. There was some water and red jell-o for him to eat when he felt up to it, and the doctor had given Mikey a whole bunch of questions to ask him once he was coherent.

But Raph beat him to the punch. His skin was all black and blue, and there was roadrash creeping up his neck and the side of his face and deep, wincing lines of pain around his eyes and the corners of his mouth; but he took one look at Mikey, sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed with one hand curled too-tight around one of Leatherhead's, and immediately started to lever himself up right, brow drawing together in concern.

"Mikey?" He said hoarsely, "Hey, what's wrong?"

And somehow, so _easily_ , it brought Mikey up short.

He hated Slash. _Hated_ him.

But more than that, he loved his brothers. He loved Raph _so_ much, and Raph was _so_ hurt, and it would only hurt him more if Mikey told him. That Slash was just here—that Slash is the reason he almost _died_ —that Mikey _despised_ his old friend, blamed him for all of this, wanted to see him _pay_ for what he did.

And Mikey thought he understood Leo a tiny bit better, in that moment. Leo, who'd lied about a broken arm all those years ago, just to spare Raph in the same way Mikey was about to.

"Aw, nothing's wrong," he said, even though it made Leatherhead look at him sidelong. "I was just spacing out."

It worked, at least a little. Raph sank against the pillow, frowning, and said, "Well, you're probably tired as hell. You've been campin' here with me all week, and dealin' school on top of that."

"I'm okay," Mikey insisted, trying to mean it; glad it was so much easier to lie than it used to be. Raph didn't need to know, not until he was well enough to _handle_ it. Right now he just needed to focus on healing. Mikey would let their smarter brothers decide when to tell him.

Raph watched him for another minute, then started moving. Just sitting up made his face fold in pain, but he gritted his teeth and kept doing _whatever_ it was he was doing, and Mikey shot to his feet, hovering over the side of the bed.

"Raph, quit it! You're supposed to lay there and not move and get better!" _Honestly,_ why else would his brothers be so glued to his side but to take care of him?

But a moment later Raph was situated, and patting the space he'd just created on the side of the bed. "C'mon over here. Might as well get some decent shut-eye if you're dead-set about not goin' home."

And Mikey swayed on the spot; his initial, automatic response was to cross the foot between them immediately and curl up against his big brother and shelter there for as long as he was able, but something bigger held him back.

"Leo said I can't do that anymore, 'cause the doctors don't like—"

"Leo ain't here, and I'll just tell the doctors it's conducive to a good night's sleep." He smirked a little, but Mikey didn't quite smile back.

"I'm not a little kid anymore," he heard himself say, almost challenging. Raph's expression didn't change.

"You're still littler than me."

"I'll _always_ be littler than you."

"My point exactly. Get over here." He raised his good arm, unwavering. "We can watch Netflix on your phone until our bros come back and bust us."

And it was hard for Mikey to argue that when he didn't really want to argue in the first place. He glanced at Leatherhead, who shrugged archly as if to say "he's got you there," and Mikey gave in with a very small amount of grace.

His phone chimed brightly, a little 8-bit tune from his favorite video game, and he made a face at himself. He meant to turn the volume down to vibrate earlier. He dug his phone from his pocket before climbing up next to Raph on the bed, unlocking the screen to check the new text.

 **From:** Rad Brad

_When can you start?_

It took him a moment to make sense of that. Start _what?_ But then it clicked, and a smile all but split his face in two. Brad's mom must have said yes! That was _really good,_ and if Woody's uncle hired him, too, he'd really be able to help out his brothers for a change.

He was grinning as he thumbed back a quick reply— _As soon as she needs me! Tell her I said thanks!—_ and Raph's face had softened by the time he tucked his (silenced) phone away again.

"Who was that?" his brother asked, and Mikey felt his smile freeze on his face. Raph would most certainly not like to hear that he and Bradford were buddies, and he _probably_ wouldn't be ecstatic to find out that Mikey would be working for Bradford's mom very soon. Mikey hadn't even thought of that.

He was saved answering, though, by the reappearance of Donatello; he came in with a bunch of cafeteria food on a tray in his hands, looking more tired than anything else, but his face lit up with his smile when he saw Raph was awake.

"Well, hi, sleeping beauty," he said kindly, setting the tray down on the little table next to Raph's untouched jell-o. He drew a chair up to the side of the bed opposite Mikey and Leatherhead and sat down, folding his arms across the thin blanket. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," Raph said dryly. Then he arched an eyebrow at Mikey, and said, "I bet Don's not too old for a hug."

He put out his casted arm for Donnie, and Donnie didn't waste a second in scooting over a little closer and hugging back. He was grinning widely—Mikey could see it from where he was sitting, even if Raph couldn't. "Man, I'm gonna have to find out what drugs you're on—I could get used to Cuddly Raphael."

"Good luck with that, he's limited edition. Mikey, you gonna get in on this or not?"

"Jeez! I'm coming!"

They watched like nine episodes of Parks and Rec together, Mikey sharing his little phone screen between the four of them and Leatherhead passing around food from time to time via his prime spot of power next to the tray. Leo found them in their cluster midway through their mini marathon, when they were all next to tears with laughter, and it was probably that more than anything that caused him to roll his eyes and leave them to it.

And it felt like everything was fine. Raph was getting stronger every day—he'd be home really soon, starting outpatient care and physical therapy with Leo—and Mikey had a way lined up to be of _help_ to his family this time, and everyone he loved was safe and sound, everyone was okay.

And as long as he didn't think about it, Mikey could pretend he was okay, too.

* * *

Mikey wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up to a dimmed room and gentle nudging. The curtains were drawn, and Leatherhead was dozing in the chair by the window, and Don was sleeping like a log on Raph's other side, and Raph was whispering, "Mikey, wake up."

"I'm up," he muttered back, voice all scratchy and tired, and Raph's nudges against his shoulder turned into an affectionate squeeze.

"I know you're tired, buddy, I'm sorry. But I need you to do something for me."

That had Mikey's attention, and he pushed himself upright. His body protested right away—he'd been sleeping in a weird position, he ached all over—but he rubbed the heel of his hand over his face and tried to look rested and attentive.

"Okay, what?"

"Saki's here, talkin' to Leo and Karai in the hall," was the very, very last thing on the list of things Mikey expected his brother to say. Suddenly the weariness was the farthest thing from his mind and he sat up straight, eyes wide in the dark room as he stared at his big brother.

"Uncle Saki? He's _here?"_

"Yeah." Raph turned to look across the room, and Mikey followed his gaze to the door of the hospital room—slightly ajar, spilling one thin shaft of light from the bright hallway across the floor, along with tiny little bubbles of muted, unintelligible conversation. "I need you to go spy on 'em for me."

Mikey was already sliding off the bed, the toes of his sneakers touching down on the linoleum floor soundlessly. But he couldn't help asking, "Why me and not Don?" Donnie was smarter, after all, and he'd be able to glean all kinds of things from whatever the party in the hall was saying that Mikey would probably miss for sure. But Raph's frown tightened a little, even as he pulled sleeping Donnie a little closer.

"Don's tired. And he likes to side with Leo in keeping important junk from me." Oh. That argument the night he stormed out of the apartment never really _was_ resolved, was it? "Just hurry up and go listen, before Leo has security escort him out or something."

Yikes—would Leo _really?_

He crossed the room as swiftly and silently as he could, peering through the crack in the door and sort of feeling like a character in a spy movie. He spotted Leo right away—they had moved down the hall aways, to the side of the door that made it easiest for Mikey to peek out without opening the door wider or leaving the room. He eased it open a tiny bit more, anyway, and slid down to his knees; crouching on the cool floor and straining to hear.

"—show up like this, it's totally uncalled for. We haven't ever asked you for a second of your time or a _cent_ of your money, and we don't want it now."

"I don't understand your attitude. There's nothing wrong with accepting help from—"

" _Don't_ say 'family'. You made it pretty clear over the years that you're _not."_

Leo's voice was venomous and fierce, Mikey had never, ever heard him sound so angry. Karai was standing at Leo's side, her hand was clenched tight around Leo's arm—for his sake or her's, Mikey couldn't tell—and their backs were to the door Mikey was huddled behind. So, if he just pushed it open a _little_ bit more, and moved out just enough, he'd probably be able to see...

Uncle Saki.

Even prepared for it, Mikey wasn't prepared for it at all. He looked a _lot_ like sensei; the shape of his jaw and his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Take away Saki's beard and add a few laugh lines, and he'd almost pass for their father.

Almost. Because his expression was telling, and sensei _never_ would have looked at Leo like that.

"I'm not here to ruin your life, Leonardo. That is not the grand scheme of things, I promise you. I have better things to do than fly six thousand miles just to upset the apple cart, and I would not come here to pick a fight, given that my daughter loves you as much as she despises me."

Karai made a sound like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, and Leo went stiff, in either dread or surprise. Like he'd been _braced_ for that fight for those petty reasons this whole time, and didn't know what to do now that Saki's motives were something else entirely. It couldn't be anything _good_ , so it had to be something even _worse,_ and Leo's hands folded into fists.

"Then...why _are_ you here?"

But they wouldn't find out; or at least, they wouldn't find out just yet. Because in the next second, Saki's eyes moved over Leo's shoulder and met Mikey's curious gaze precisely, and Mikey sucked in a surprised breath.

For a second that felt like a year, nothing happened. Then Karai barked a sharp _"what_ are you looking at?" and Leo spun around like her question was answer enough in itself, his face pale and panicked, and Saki stepped around them and back down the hall towards Mikey.

Who decided the better part of valor was _immediate retreat._ He scrambled back from the door on his butt, then made it to his feet and ran back across the room to Raph's bed.  _"What?"_ Raph hissed, looking more alarmed than Mikey felt. One arm was still tight around Don, and the other went out for Mikey as he hurried over. "What happened?"

Leatherhead woke up with the accidental kick to his chair, blinking blearily as Mikey leaned into the half hug Raph had to offer, and in the next second, the door opened, spilling more light into the room, and Saki stepped just over the threshold.

"Holy shit," Raph breathed, and his grip on Mikey's shoulders hurt. "He really _does_ look like dad."

Saki must have heard him, because the room was pretty still and quiet save for the super soft humming of the equipment hooked up around Raph's bed; and it seemed to surprise him, because the man just stood there, like he wasn't sure what to say or do.

And maybe it was because he looked _so much_ like father, but Mikey couldn't summon any real fear or distrust of the man. Sure, he could cause a lot of problems for them, but he _hadn't_ —and from the sound of the conversation Mikey had just overheard, he didn't plan on it, either.

So Mikey straightened a little under Raph's arm, and said, before he could think better of it, "Um... Nice to meet you, Uncle Saki."

After a long, long beat of silence, Saki stepped out of the room again. Freeing space enough for Karai and Leo to edge around him, and stand between their little clan and the almost-stranger. He folded his hands behind him, and adopted this strangely blank expression; and in a tone of voice that made it impossible for Mikey to decide whether it was the truth or a lie, Saki replied,

"It was nice to meet you, too, Michelangelo."


	39. Our Broken Bridges Didn't Burn - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today! And to celebrate, I stayed up until 5am to finish this chapter. :)

"Mikey, that looks wonderful," Mrs. Bradford said delightedly, moving around the counter to inspect his project more closely. "You're taking to this like a duck to water! Are you sure you've never worked in a floral boutique before?"

Mikey leaned back, wiping a few errant curls out of his face with the relatively clean inside of his wrist, and couldn't help smiling at the praise. "As sure as I'm breathing! But you knew that when you hired me, ma'am. I'm just glad you don't regret it yet."

It was the beginning of his second week working at the little shop, right in the heart of Astoria, and Mikey could honestly say he hadn't expected to have this much fun with it. The turnover rate in this type of business, he was learning, was pretty high; people didn't expect to _work_ when they worked here, expected to take phone orders and ring customers up at the register, but not to get their hands dirty.

Mikey had never had a job before, though. He had no idea what to expect in the first place; so it was the easiest thing in the world to spend five hours after school lugging around buckets of bleach, scrubbing out coolers, sanitizing knives and worktables, processing what felt like a thousand flowers per minute, keeping the floors clean, trying _really hard_ to avoid splinters, hauling out garbage, etc.—all while being totally available for whatever customer managed to catch him in one place long enough to ask him a question he only had half a clue how to answer.

Mrs. Bradford— _Debbie,_ she had said, more than once, _if you call Chris "Bradford," it'll get much too confusing, so just call me Debbie—_ assured him that it wouldn't be as hectic once the holidays were over, but Mikey didn't mind. Being busy kept him from thinking too much, which was rapidly becoming a bigger problem than he knew how to handle, and besides, he _liked_ his job. Mrs. Bradford was nice—she didn't _have_ to hire someone without experience, but she did, and she was patient and taught him more about flowers and horticulture than he ever thought he'd know; and hanging out once the place closed, to work on bouquets and rearrange coolers, was _fun_.

"How could I?" Debbie replied warmly. "You're as reliable as Chris promised you'd be, and so hardworking! It was all I could do to convince my boys to get out of bed when they didn't have to at your age." Mikey grinned wide at that—unable to help thinking of Leo, and the precedent he set for the rest of his tiny family when he was only _ten_ —and she added, "Honestly, though, despite how crazy it's been, you've been nothing but cheerful and helpful every step of the way. I really appreciate that."

She was probably talking about the last few days, when the shop had been practically crawling with customers, and Mikey had started answering the phone when she couldn't get to it; hugging the receiver between his cheek and shoulder to look up orders on the computer or take messages on the little pad of stationary Mrs. Bradford kept by the fax machine. He'd also slide over to help wrap flowers without being asked, and tag along on deliveries if the arrangements outnumbered the delivery guy ten to one.

It was like soccer, like creating space for the ball so a teammate could pass it over; it was teamwork, meeting each other halfway.

"It's hard not to be cheerful when you're surrounded by flowers all day," Mikey said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. He was impossibly grateful to have a job at _all_ , and he'd be happy to scrub the whole place with a toothbrush if she asked him to. That sort of helpfulness was more selfish than kind. He'd do whatever she needed, but only to keep this job, to help his brothers.

He hasn't felt cheerful in a long time.

A door opened and closed in the back, and Mikey glanced up in time to catch Brad weaving his way around the worktables toward them. They lived in the apartment above the store, which must have been super convenient—especially at times like these, when Brad could trail upstairs at Mikey's insistence and return with the _pièce de résistance_ of Mikey's Christmas-themed project.

"Told ya we had candy canes," Brad told his mom, dumping his armful on the counter, and she rolled her eyes. Mikey, on the other hand, was worlds more enthusiastic.

"Perfect! These are rad, Brad." Carefully, he added the candy to the box arrangement of tulips and foliage and soft rounded flowers he didn't know the names of, grinning when the red and white display finally popped. Roses sold like crazy this time of year, so he didn't mess with any of those, and he didn't know what the meanings of different flowers meant yet, not really—but even if all this stuff didn't really _go_ together, it still looked pretty good. Besides, Mrs. Bradford wouldn't let him make anything _too_ dumb, not for display. "Aw, yeah. Now we just need some ribbon or something."

"It's already late," Debbie said, with a glance out the glass storefront at the winter dark night. "Are you sure your mom won't want you home soon?"

Mikey rubbed his hair out of his face again—his headband had slipped too far back at some point during work and his bangs were spilling out. Bradford was smirking at him, so he probably looked pretty silly, but this close to going home, it didn't make sense to worry about fixing it

"It's just me and my brothers. I can text Leo, though, if you want."

Complete silence greeted that offer, and he looked up to find both Bradfords staring at him. Brad's face was unreadable, but his mom's had some sad melting thing going on, and Mikey winced internally.

"I'm so sorry," she said, like she'd hurt his feelings somehow. "I didn't know." When Mikey waved it off with a quick 'no prob', she added, carefully, "Do you mind my asking—"

" _Mom,"_ Brad muttered, giving her a sideways look that clearly said _"stop."_ Mikey really didn't mind—people were always morbidly curious about dead parents, _especially_ dead moms, and Mikey had been fielding similar questions since grade school—but Brad seemed to mind a lot. He grabbed Mikey's coat from the rack by the door and tossed it to him. "I'll give you a ride home. Let's go out the back so mom can lock up for the night."

"Oh. Sure," Mikey said, and waved goodbye at Debbie as he pulled his coat on. "See you tomorrow, Mrs. Bradford!"

" _Debbie,"_ she corrected, and she still looked sorry, but at least she smiled. "See you tomorrow, Mikey."

The back door led out into the narrow sidestreet where they got their weekly deliveries dropped off, and Bradford's car was parked in a small private lot around the corner. The cold air slapped sharply against Mikey's face, a far cry from the comfortable warmth of the boutique, and he tugged his sleeves over his hands to hold them against the lower half of his face. The streetlights buzzed burnt orange, and the rest of the night was black.

"Sorry about mom," Bradford said abruptly, when they weren't even halfway down the sidestreet. "She's nosy, but she means well."

"She's nice," Mikey replied, smiling—a knee-jerk reaction when people around him felt bad, even though his mouth was hidden and words muffled behind his hands. "People are always curious when they find out we don't have parents. I bet _you're_ curious, too." Bradford scowled at him, but didn't deny anything, and Mikey felt something more honest bloom behind his mechanical smile. "Hah, I knew it! It's not some big secret, dude, you can ask me whatever you want."

Brad sort of shrugged uncomfortably, and they walked a few more paces in silence, and then he blurted, "Do you remember her?"

"Nope." Mikey hopped over a crack in the pavement. "I was little."

"That probably makes it easier," Bradford said slowly, like he was testing the words carefully, and Mikey nodded. Brad pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car as they neared it. His next question didn't come until they were both inside, waiting for the engine to heat up and the cold air blowing from the vents to warm. "So—what about your dad?"

And despite himself, Mikey found himself freezing—from his throat down to the pit of his stomach—in a way that had nothing to do with winter weather. He swallowed, and found that smile again. Hiding behind it, like a coward.

He felt all kinds of conflicted about sensei lately, especially with Uncle Saki showing up the way he did, and for a second that stretched too long in the cold little cabin of the car, Mikey wasn't sure what to say about him.

_He was a good person. He took us in and cared about us like we were really his. He taught us martial arts and gave us things to keep and hung our pictures on the walls. He loved us, I know he did. But he left us with nothing, and we could really use a little more than nothing right now._

"He died two years ago," he said instead. "And it hasn't been easy at all." And then, because leaving it there left a bitter taste in his mouth, Mikey added quickly, "But Leo took care of everything. He put himself through school for us and everything. We're doing okay now—or, you know, we were."

Yikes. Bradford looked sorry he'd asked.

Just about then, when the silence was verging past awkward and into uncomfortable, the ventilation system gave a little shudder, and started cranking out hot air. It was as good as any icebreaker.

" _Finally_ ," Brad said vehemently, cranking the old gear-stick into drive, and Mikey had to agree. He leaned forward to meet the warmth with a relieved sigh, holding his cold fingers against the vent on his side of the car. The old station wagon bumped over the curb and into the street, and Brad asked, "What part of Queens?"

"Flushing," Mikey said, clicking into his seatbelt as an afterthought. "Thanks for driving me. It would have sucked waiting for the bus."

"Don't worry about it. Hey, I been meaning to ask, how's Raphael doing?"

"Better!" Mikey said emphatically. "He's been home for about a week now. Karai—that's his physical therapist, she's awesome—doesn't want him doing any rehab until the bone mends, which could be _months._ So he's going a little stir-crazy, 'cause sitting still is definitely like, the thing he's _worst_ at. But he's doing okay."

"It's probably just a relief to have him home from the hospital," Brad said, and Mikey nodded with feeling. "So how'd Leonardo take it, when you told him you were getting a job? You never told me."

"Hah, oh yeah. He was definitely not happy." Mikey smiled crookedly, leaning back in his seat.

That conversation had been had just outside Raph's hospital room, since that seemed to be the place to have important conversations anymore. And Mikey still sort of felt bad—Leo's _"I don't want this for you,"_ had definitely rattled him. Leo never admitted to wants. It was almost enough for Mikey to rethink his stubborn decision to contribute however he could do their lost monetary cause.

Almost. But Mikey stood his ground, anyway, because Leo had _promised,_ way back when, to talk about Mikey getting a job and helping with bills, and they had never really gotten around to having that talk. And Donnie had ended up on Mikey's side that night, arguing with a soft "you _did_ promise, Leo," followed by "we need all the help we can get right now" and Leo had crumpled.

"He got over it, though. There's way more important stuff for him to worry about than where I go after school."

Like Raph getting better, and crippling medical bills, and rent, and what the heck Uncle Saki was up to.

Mikey felt himself frown in thought. Saki had seemed nice enough, for all that Mikey had only traded half a dozen words with the guy, but he had the rest of his family on edge. Like he was their own version of the Boogeyman, or something. But right after he'd said hi to Mikey, and asked Raph how he was feeling, he said goodbye and left.

Just like that. Didn't linger in the doorway, or miss a step on the way out, just disappeared down the hall and around the corner toward the elevators and left a concrete tension in his wake.

Mikey was just about sick of all these cryptic characters popping in and out of his life. He couldn't say for sure, but it seemed like he had worse luck than most people in attracting unwanted attention. It wasn't like he went _looking_ for trouble—that being the case, he couldn't imagine what life would be like if he _did._

The drive between Astoria and Flushing was like ten minutes long when traffic wasn't congested, and before long Bradford was pulling up to the curb in front of Mikey's apartment.

"Well, thanks again," Mikey said, popping open his door; but Brad stopped him with a hand on Mikey's shoulder.

"Hey, uh—sorry, for bringing it up, but," he said awkwardly, "that guy? The one who works for my brother? Have you— _heard_ from him lately?"

Mikey was facing the door, and _saw_ it, in the reflection of the passenger-side window, when his expression contorted right away into an ugly scowl. Bradford must have seen it, too, because he lifted his hand away slowly.

"Look, I was only asking 'cause I heard Hun on the phone, talkin' about how Slash had gone off the grid. I guess the guy called and quit the Dragons, which ain't something anyone can do _lightly._ I dunno what his game is, and neither does Hun, so just—watch it, alright?"

His voice was low and his words were coming quickly, close together, and through a haze of that hatred that was becoming all-too familiar— _hate that guy,_ hate _that guy—_ Mikey realized his friend was trying to protect him. Even if it meant going behind his brother's back to do it.

"That's why you drove me home, huh?" Mikey said, and Bradford shrugged jerkily. It made him smile, mostly amused, mostly sincere. "I'll be careful. Thanks for the warning, Rad Brad. See you tomorrow."

Brad waited for him to get inside before driving off, and Mikey shook his head. He was surrounded by the overprotective.

Maybe he had reason to be. Mikey wasn't sure what Slash was up to, but he wasn't scared of him anymore, that was for sure. Not after what he admitted to in the hospital. Let him try something—Mikey would sooner break into sensei's old house in Kings Point and steal back his nunchucks to _fight that guy_ than he would stand back and let him hurt Raphael again. Let him _try._

As he headed for the stairwell, he dug his phone out of his pocket. He hadn't checked his messages since his fifteen minute break almost three hours ago.

There were a few texts from Raph, complaining about _"nothing to do in this freakin' jail cell, I'd rather be at school than this, FML"_ so nothing out of the ordinary there; there was a text from Leo that said _"dinner's in the microwave"_ , and one from Donnie right after that that just said _"don't worry, April brought over lasagna."_ Thank god.

Renet had sent him a celebratory Blingee, still over the moon that the two of them managed to somehow _not fail_ their math finals, that said in glittery font _"xmas break n 3 days!!!"_. He almost smiled, climbing the stairs mechanically, and scrolled past her message thread to find Leatherhead's. There was a little +1 by his name, and Mikey clicked with gusto.

It was a picture message, and once it loaded, Mikey paused between one step and the next. It was a _selfie_ , Leatherhead and Klunk's faces mushed together, Klunk caught mid-meow and Leatherhead's hair flopped back to make room for her, exposing his scars; and the warm lighting caught his eyes and softened the edges of his smile, and...

Mikey found himself smiling in a way that hurt, chest full to bursting with affection. He hadn't felt this tender in a long, long time, or at least that's what it _felt_ like. He looked at it long enough that his phone screen dimmed to save battery, and then he blinked himself out of it.

Saved the picture, and shoved his phone in his pocket, and resumed climbing stairs with purpose.

When he made it inside his apartment, closing the door behind him and locking it automatically, it was to find the kitchen and living room were empty. The lamp in the living room was on, probably for his benefit, so he wouldn't have to navigate through the dark. He hung his jacket up at the door, surveying the clutter of Raph's outpatient papers and crinkled pharmacy bags, then glanced down the hall.

Don and Leo's door was shut, and there as no light creeping out from the space between the bottom and the floor. Hopefully Donnie was sleeping—he was due for a serious crash after all the studying he'd been doing lately—but Mikey knew better than to hope Leo was, too. Raph's wheelchair was missing from the living room, and muted conversation was drifting out through the crack in his and Raph's bedroom door.

Mikey toed off his sneakers and made his way tiredly down the hall. He wasn't hungry. The carpet was a blessing on his sore feet, and there was little he wanted more in the whole world in that moment than to just _lay down._

As he drew closer, though, he heard Raph bite out a sharp curse, something hurting and furious, and Mikey froze. Leo's voice followed, quiet and patient, and Raph bit out, "I _can't,_ okay—shit, it _hurts,_ Leo, just gimme a break!"

The pre-rehab. Karai had given Leo exercises to do with Raph so his leg wouldn't get stiff, to work his muscles since he wouldn't be walking anytime soon, and they were hard on him. He was in pain, and his lack of mobility made him need more help than he wanted to ask for, and he was frustrated and ashamed of himself and desperately unhappy. Leo used to be his favorite target, and from the sounds of it, Raph had found a familiar outlet in their big brother again.

"I know it hurts, Raph," Leo said, and his voice managed to be kind without bending gently. "But you told me you want to walk again, and that's what I want, too." It was the gentleness that rankled Raph, the way the nurses and the doctors besides Karai had talked to him in the hospital, the softness that he read as _pity_ even when it wasn't. So the utter lack of it in Leo must have drawn Raph up short, because he didn't interrupt as Leo continued, "So we're going to do this together. It's going to be hard, but it's going to be worth it. Okay?"

Mikey leaned against the wall, hardly daring to breathe, and strained to hear Raph's soft reply.

"S'is what you do all day at work? Deal with ungrateful assholes like me?"

"It's not the same thing and you know it," Leo said, and the words had a sharp, tempered ring, like the edge of his old swords. Mikey could only imagine what his face must have looked like. "You are not _work,_ Raphael. You're my little brother, and I love you, and I'm not leaving your side until you're well enough to _make_ me. Understood?" There was a small pocket of full silence, and a soft rustle—like Raph had nodded, or Leo had reached out to hold him, and then Leo added, "You _are_ an asshole, though."

And Raph laughed wetly at that, a little tight and pained, but so full and warm that Mikey's own eyes burned.

He turned and headed back into the living room. Flopping onto the monster couch, groping blindly for the afghan—wishing he'd had the sense of mind to nudge up the heat before he laid down, but content to curl up under the warm blanket in jeans and hoodie and attempt to insulate warmth rather than, ugh, _stand._

He blinked drowsily, reaching up to tug his headband off and let it drop to the floor. Despite himself, Mikey found his thoughts wandering back to what Bradford had said about Slash. He wondered what would have made the guy _quit._ Honestly, he still sort of wondered why he'd ever joined in the first place. He didn't seem to be very consistent—in his mannerisms, his attitude, even the way he talked. One minute, he was _terrifying,_ nightmare fuel, someone dangerous and deadly; and then the next he was _normal,_ almost familiar.

He threatened Mikey. He hurt Leo. But he had been pale with grief and guilt in that hospital room. _Flinched_ from Mikey and his awful rage, turned tail and ran without trying to pick a fight—and then left the Purple Dragons. Brad said Hun had never sicced Slash on Mikey—that Slash must have had personal reasons for seeking him out—but those reasons _still_ hadn't manifested, Mikey _still_ didn't know what he _wanted_ when he showed up that night on the soccer field, what felt like years ago.

 _It's almost,_ Mikey thought, with a sudden, vivid intuition, _like Slash and Spike are both in there at the same time._

That thought lingered for much longer than he expected it to, sticking stubbornly to the front of his mind; staving off the tired droop of his eyes and stilling him right there on the precipice before sleep. It wasn't until he dug out his phone, and sent the idea in a text to the last message thread he'd had open (so he would see it again tomorrow, so he wouldn't forget) that he was finally able to sleep.


	40. Our Broken Bridges Didn't Burn - Part 3

Mr. Scorseby was used to Mikey being weird at him at this point in their teacher-student relationship, and didn't miss a beat when Mikey found him on the last day of school before winter break and begged to borrow one or two of the books he kept in his classroom.

"Of course you can," the teacher had said, "I don't mind. I'm happy to see you taking such an interest in the subject. I can recommend a few websites, too, if you'd like."

Mikey lugged a full bookbag to Donnie's car after school that day, valiantly ignoring his brother's raised eyebrows at his haul.

A few nights ago, he'd fallen asleep on a _eureka!_ moment, an idea that he had sent off as a text to his most recent contact, following the barely-conscious, single-minded, 'this-is-going-to-mean-something- _big-_ to-me-later' mojo. His most recent contact turned out to be Leatherhead, no big surprise there, and the single _'?'_ his friend sent back in reply the next morning had Mikey staring at his phone and retracing his own mental steps; trying to reclaim that random breakthrough feeling from the previous night. What had he meant about Slash being two people at once?

Leatherhead beat him to the answer, though; texting again a few minutes later, a simple _'You think he might have DID?'_

DID—dissociative identity disorder. Yahtzee.

Honestly— _really—_ it made so much sense. The mood swings, if they could be called that, the differences in the way Slash and Spike moved and spoke and held himself—Mikey wasn't close to him or familiar enough with him to know if he had any of the other textbook symptoms, depression or anxiety, phobias, drug abuse, sleeping or eating disorders, auditory or visual hallucinations—but, still, _maybe._

And, okay, Mikey knew he was jumping ahead of himself here, and maybe he was grasping at straws a little bit—but part of him had always been certain that the Boogeyman from the soccer field all those nights ago _couldn't_ have been the sweet little Spike he'd known growing up. Mikey was _still_ convinced that those two just couldn't be the same guy.

Maybe there _was_ something to that intuitive leap of logic Mikey had made back there on the verge of exhausted sleep. And if that was the case, then Mikey had a place to start, in understanding half of the huge mess that made up his life these days.

With the bulk of his high school career over, and Christmas break starting the next day, Donnie was a loose shell of his usually stressed-out self, sleeping longer and eating more and looking closer to human than shambling zombie when he joined his brothers at the breakfast table. He had a job lined up, some IT support thing he had mentioned a few times before, but it didn't start until the new year.

And since Donnie's self-imposed, staggering, school-related workload was shelved, he was free to just spend long hours with Raph when no one else was home, happily hogging the bulk of their less-recalcitrant-than-usual brother's company; content even without being productive, for probably the first time in his life since he was about fourteen, and Mikey thought it was a good look on him.

And not in the _least_ because he was a lot more friendly about sharing his laptop.

"C'mon, Mikey, you're killing me here," Donnie said for about the nine-hundredth time, playful and wheedling, from his spot next to Raph on the monster couch; and despite everything, Mikey couldn't help smiling. He directed it at the computer screen, though, so Donnie couldn't see it and push his advantage. "Tell me what's so interesting. You know I can just check the browsing history when you're done, even if you delete it. All it would take is a little trip to database file Index.dat, no work at all."

" _Ugh_ , Don," Mikey said with joking distaste, "get your geek away from me."

Raph laughed, head tipping back against the couch, and Mikey could practically hear Donnie roll his eyes, but it was all in good fun; and when Donnie didn't get up to follow his curiosity across the room to where Mikey was camped at the kitchen table, Mikey decided it was safe enough to get back to work.

His Psychology class had touched on the subject a little in the last chapter they had studied; they had even watched a movie about multi-personality disorder, about a lady who had sixteen different personalities in her head that she would switch between intermittently, and if Mikey wasn't such an _idiot_ , he would have made the connection a lot sooner.

But he never really paid attention in Psych—it was easy enough for him to skate by with minimal effort in that class and still get an A, and his brain was always so busy that it was hard to follow along with everyone else at what felt like a snail's pace. So Mikey usually spent the period perusing Mr. scorseby's small library for PTSD mentions instead, taking advantage of all the helpful material to do some reading up for his best buddy's sake.

And thanks to that, the most _obvious_ of all possible answers had been waving red flags in Mikey's face for _weeks_ and he'd _totally_ missed it.

Ughhh, _Mikey._

At least Leatherhead was feeling equally chagrined; conversation between them kept winging back to _'can't BELIEVE I hadn't thought of that,'_ and that made Mikey feel a little better.

Maybe Slash _was_ just an all-around awful guy—maybe he didn't have a behavioral disorder to blame, and he was just mean and hateful and out to get them for no reason. But even so, Mikey didn't need to be mean _back. "Like a river over stone,"_ their father always used to say, when one of his sons acted out on a temper. _"Let the anger wash over you and away. You can never unsay an cruel word, or take back a hurt. Our only obligation in this world is kindness."_

And maybe Slash _did_ dissociate from time to time, maybe there were two personalities in his head—and if that was the case, then _Spike_ was the one Mikey had been cruel to, in Raph's hospital room, when he mistook a tentative apology as an admission of guilt. And thinking about that for too long made something heavy press too hard against his heart. And all of that ugly hatred Mikey had been wearing like a second skin—that uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling that had never quite settled properly into something Mikey could take apart and come to terms with—was twisting painfully into shame. And Mikey couldn't help thinking that sensei would have been really disappointedin him for the way he acted, pushing Slash and blaming him and looking to hurt him in some small way, the way Mikey and Mikey's family had been hurt.

 _I messed up,_ Mikey decided, one part miserable, two parts mulish. _But sensei_ also _used to say that whatever you put into the universe usually finds its way back to you. Slash was a_ jerk _, and he had it coming. And I'm glad I stood up to him, even though I was scared._

_Still..._

Mikey had work, and lots of chores piled up at home, and not a whole lot of free time, but—he wanted to fix this. As much as he was able, he wanted to make it right. At least on _his_ end. At least he would try. Because Mikey was tired of thinking about him, and he wanted to let the whole thing go. Forgiving for his own sake, if not for Slash's. They were friends once. He was important to Raph once. That had to add up to _something_ in cosmic currency.

And that meant understanding that strange person who lingered on the periphery of Mikey's life. Or _trying_ to understand him, anyway.

But not because Mikey _owed_ him or anything.

He didn't even hear it when Leo came home, and almost jumped out of his chair when a coat fell over his head. It was a familiar navy blue, and still cold to the touch from the weather outside, and Mikey pushed it back in time to watch Leo pick up a book out of Mikey's formidable stack.

"I said 'hi' twice, but you were miles away," Leo said casually, eyes tracing the title _Coping with Trauma-Related Dissociation_ without comment. "What are you up to?"

"My Psych teacher let me borrow some stuff to take home," Mikey said, hoping he didn't sound too defensive. "I like Psych."

"Psych, huh? You do really well in that class." There was no suspicion in Leo's eyes, and he only thumbed through the book in a cursory way. "All As so far."

Mikey relaxed, and kicked himself a little for being so edgy. He wasn't going to lie if one of his brothers outright _asked_ —he had learned his lesson about lying, he really had—but he wasn't going to just volunteer the information for free, either. Somehow, he figured his family wouldn't be thrilled to find out just who all this research was for.

"Well, it's pretty easy. And my teacher's cool."

"Mr. Scorseby? Yeah, he is. I had him for two years." He put the book down, glancing at Mikey sidelong. He was still in his work scrubs—the Star Trek "Medical Officer" scrubs Donnie got him for his birthday last year, those nerds—and he looked a little worn and a little tired, but he also looked pretty happy, smiling crookedly at his youngest brother in the warmth of their kitchen. "But if all this could wait for a little while, I thought we were going out tonight."

Mikey blinked at him. Looked back down at the laptop, and the little time and date stamp in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Realized in a sudden rush that Leo's paid vacation started the _next day,_ and he'd be home from work for a _whole_ _week—_ and tonight they were going shopping for their big party tomorrow, and Mikey was going to make every single holiday themed recipe he'd been saving on Pinterest all year, and they were gonna get dinner and hang out just the four of them. The whole evening. Shopping for ingredients and supplies together, and sneaking last-minute gifts into the cart, and arguing about stuff they didn't really care about just for the sake of being rowdy, and holy _cats,_ tomorrow was _Christmas Eve!_

"You're home!" he squawked unnecessarily, all but leaping out of his chair—Leo promised they'd go _right_ when he got home. Leo laughed.

" _There_ he is," he said fondly, and moved past him toward the bedrooms. "Let me get changed, and we'll head out."

"I can't believe you forgot," Donnie remarked as he unfolded himself from the couch. "You've been talking about tonight for _days."_

"I can't believe I forgot either. We have—let me think— _one million_ things to do before the party," Mikey said, scandalized, snapping books shut and shuffling papers into some semblance of order. He closed out of the windows he had open on Donnie's laptop, and didn't bother clearing the browser history, because Donnie was at least two-thirds computer and he'd be able to find it anyway.

He hurried around the table to the fridge, sliding their _"Grocery List—_ _Party Edition!_ _"_ out from under its Santa Claus magnet, calling over his shoulder, "Raphie, you'll still help me tonight, won't you? We'll be up pretty late."

"You think I'm gonna let anyone _else_ be designated taste-tester? You're out of your mind," Raph said with a grin, easing himself to the edge of the couch as Donnie pushed his wheelchair over.

He wasn't quite as grouchy about it anymore, after those first few sessions of pre-rehab with Leo; and he was still kind of weird about getting help from other people, but he consented to let his brothers (and sister) fawn over him without _too_ much of an attitude.

The doctors were confident that he would walk again, but he'd always have a slight limp—might need a brace or a crutch on bad days—but Mikey wasn't too worried about that. They didn't know Raph like he did. When it was for something he wanted or someone he loved, Raph blew expectations out of the water like it was his _job_.

And even if he didn't, his family would take care of him. He came out of that accident _alive_ and _himself,_ and that's all that mattered.

They still weren't really talking about the other thing, though. The money thing. Leo was getting medical bills in the mail, and he never opened them in front of his brothers, and it had become something of an elephant in the room. They didn't bring it up because they were pretty _stuck._ Leo couldn't work any more than he did, Donnie couldn't start work until the new year, Raph was _out_ of work until his leg healed up—though Ruth had called to promise his position at the garage would be waiting for him when he was back on his feet—and Mikey's meager earnings at the flower shop in Astoria weren't gonna save the day anytime soon.

Mikey had an idea, though. He was just a hundred and ten percent certain it wasn't going to go over well. With his siblings in such a good mood, though, maybe now was as good of a time as any? He mulled it over as they left the apartment, tugging his mittens on while Leo locked up, and Donnie and Raph bickered amiably.

One phone call from Scary Leo to their negligent landlord—promising, in no uncertain terms, an ugly lawsuit if his temporarily impaired brother got injured on the stairs—and the elevator was in working order within two business days. They headed down the hall toward the elevator instead of the stairwell, and Mikey thought that was kind of _amazing_.

"So," he said casually, as Donnie leaned over Raph's shoulder to hit the 'down' button. "Woody says his uncle will give me a job at that pizzeria he owns in Little Italy, once the holidays are over. Remember the one we went to after my game that one time?"

A beat of silence greeted that remark, and then Raph said, "I thought you liked the flower place."

"I do," Mikey said quickly. "This would be—y'know, also."

"I'm sorry, _what?"_ Leo said, in a tone that was nosediving towards downright dangerous. "You want to work _two_ jobs?"

"I _could,_ though." Mikey said, and tried to sound reasonable and firm, instead of giving off any _I-already-regret-saying-this_ vibes _._ From the way his voice came out barely louder than a mumble, he did not manage that at _all_. "I can work at Debbie's until like, eight or nine, and then at the pizza place until—"

"Two or three in the morning?" Leo's voice was crisp and forbidding, and Mikey knew there would be a scowl on his face and a thunderous fold in his brow right between his eyes. Mikey very carefully did not look at Leo. "And then get up again three hours after that to go to school? Forget it, Michelangelo."

"Mikey, c'mon," Donnie said softly _—_ and Mikey wilted a little, because Donnie had sided with him against Leo to agree for him to get a job in the first place, and now Mikey was really pushing the envelope. "That's too much."

"You'd burn out before your sophomore year," Raph put in, leaning to one side in his wheelchair to give Mikey a hard look. "You've got enough on your plate as-is, bro."

Raph's face was set and even, but his hands were white-knuckled on the wheels of his chair, and it was probably because he _hated_ the idea even more than Leo. Mikey working two jobs to pay _his_ hospital bills, while Raph couldn't work at all. Yeah, there was probably a better time and place for Mikey to have brought this up.

Then again, probably not. Odds were the reaction would have been the same no matter when or where he tried.

"Leo used to work two jobs," he tried again on principle, feeble and stubborn. The doors rolled open with a soft chime, the elevator car dim and not very inviting. Leo put an arm out to hold the automatic doors open while Donnie helped Raph maneuver inside, and lifted Mikey's chin with his other hand so he had no choice but to look at Leo, after all.

"Not at your age," Leo said plainly. He wasn't budging on this—this wasn't a fight Mikey would win, and they all knew it. Leo wasn't going to get loud and angry the way he used to get at Raph (thank goodness), he was just going to calmly lay down the law, and that sharp steel in his eyes would go away once Mikey let the matter drop. "At your age, I was playing baseball and helping father in the dojo. I had friends, and I was in clubs, and I had nothing to worry about."

Mikey huffed, and muttered, "You don't even know _how_ to have nothing to worry about," but Leo saw it for the concession that it was, and let Mikey go. They moved into the elevator after their brothers, and Donnie nudged Mikey's arm with a crooked smile.

"Nice try, buddy," he said with real warmth. "It's the thought that counts."

"Uh, not really."

"Yeah, really." Raph's eyes were bright, unflinching green. "We don't want you workin' yourself that hard, but we know you _would._ And we appreciate it, goofball."

"We're gonna be just fine," Leo added. The sharp edges in his expression were relenting already, and Mikey had never been more grateful to be the baby of the family than he was then if it meant Leo couldn't stay peeved at him for very long. "We'll get through this together, just like we always do. But for now," he continued, as the elevator jerked to a stop on the ground floor, "it's almost Christmas, and we have a party to prepare for. You just worry about that, and we'll cross those other bridges when we get there."

When he said it like that, it seemed easy enough. The doors rolled open, and the handful of people waiting for a lift upstairs moved affably out of the way, standing patiently to one side while Donnie steered Raph's wheelchair out, and Raph said, "Damn, I'm practically royalty—yo, Don, peel me a grape."

"Oh, I'll peel you _something_."

And it wasn't _that_ funny, but Raph was actually joking about his busted leg instead of being moody about it, and Don had been smiling easy for like two days straight, and Leo dropped an arm around Mikey's shoulders as they headed toward the door, and Mikey couldn't stop laughing once he started.

It was already getting dark, and it was snowing outside—fat, lazy flakes that drifted half-heartedly toward the ground and glowed under the streetlights. Mikey's breath turned into puffy clouds, curling away like smoke, and he leaned into Leo as they walked.

It was Christmas Eve tomorrow, and their whole clan was coming together for the party at their little apartment—including Karai, and Mr. Murakami, and Leatherhead—and Mikey couldn't help but think, maybe, things were finally getting back to normal. So much had happened these last couple of months—but maybe he and his family had _finally_ made it to the beginning of the homestretch, the finish line in sight, and there were no more curveballs to field, no more insane obstacles or roadblocks to overcome, and they could stop bracing themselves for another piece of bad news to add to the pile.

 _Yeah._ He tilted his head back, grinning up at the dark sky. _Winter's always been lucky for us._ Winter brought them sensei once, after all, years ago. And sure, this year they had a lot of _bad_ luck to contend with, but maybe that only meant a lot of _good_ was coming to make up for it.

And maybe if he hadn't been so caught up in wishful thinking, he would have noticed the Rolls-Royce parked on the curb across the street, idling in front of their apartment and sending plumes of exhaust swirling through the cold like a warning flare.


	41. Our Broken Bridges Didn't Burn - Part 4

"The thing that _really_ amazes me," Raph said conversationally, "is that he doesn't consider this a _talent_."

Mikey glanced up from his mixing, to find his two oldest brothers trading knowing looks over their generous (mostly stolen) samples of peppermint bark. "What? What's not a talent?"

Leo laughed, and spread his arms to indicate the kitchen. " _This,_ you goofball."

There was a lot happening, that was for sure. Mikey was only tackling the desserts the night before—the _meal_ could wait until tomorrow afternoon, that way everything was hot and fresh—and with three pies in the oven (apple, pecan and cranberry streusel) and two already in the fridge (grasshopper pie and chocolate peanut butter crème), Mikey was icing pumpkin cookies and putting together an eggnog-gingerbread trifle, and trying to get his brothers' opinions on banana pudding versus pumpkin cheesecake.

But those two seemed mostly content to sit across the table and make fun of him, and eat whatever odds and ends got pushed their way. At least Donnie was being useful, Christmasing up the apartment with Casey and a box of decorations Casey hauled over from the O'Neils' house. They even were mostly getting along in there, it sounded like—the occasional shouting match was kept to a dull roar, and there was more laughing going on than yelling, and Mikey was _pretty sure_ they had that "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" claymation movie playing on T.V.

Ahh, the holidays.

And okay so _maybe_ Mikey was outdoing himself a little bit, here. But it was for Christmas Eve! And he needed to make enough food and sweets to last through Christmas, too, since no one would feel like cooking or baking or getting up before noon on Christmas, Mikey included. Which meant a lot more than two dozen cookies, _that_ was for sure. But he could always make more, he reasoned to himself, and slid the last tray of finished pumpkin cookies out of Raph's reach—but only after his brother had successfully filched two more.

And it was the first year he got to be in charge of the food. The O'Neils' and Mr. Murakami were going to bring some side-dishes, and Leatherhead said he would have felt really awkward if Mikey didn't at least let him contribute a little _something_ to the cause, so Leatherhead was bringing a bunch of soda and champagne and a citrus banana punch his mom used to make. And that was totally cool, Mikey couldn't _wait_ to see all their stuff piled together with his on their lopsided kitchen table and the counters and wherever else they found room.

The giant honey-glazed ham he was making tomorrow wouldn't be too much work, and neither would the sweet potatoes, apple stuffing, or green bean casserole. And it was only almost three a.m. and _most_ of the desserts were done, and he was _so excited_ for the party he could hardly believe it.

In part, he felt a little guilty at the extra money they spent on the food, even though Leo told him a dozen times that they'd had some cash set aside for tomorrow for _months._ And there were a lot of deals going on this time of year, so it wasn't all _too_ bad. Still, though. Part of Mikey thought that it was no big deal _only_ because they were so far deep in debt it really wouldn't make a difference either way how much they bought for their party.

But they still weren't talking about the financial situation. There still wasn't much to say.

As if sensing the dive Mikey's thoughts took, Leo leaned over to tap him on the nose with a piece of brittle.

"You ever consider culinary school?"

"Huh?" Mikey blinked at him. "Like—what, seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously," Leo said, smiling. "You're good at all of this. You _like_ it. Why not make a career out of it?"

"Well. I dunno. I only started cooking 'cause none of you guys _can,_ and I wanted... uh." He busied himself with the trifle again, adding the second and final layer of whipped cream, because his thoughts ran away with his mouth again and his brothers were watching him with open curiosity; so he _had_ to say it, but he didn't have to look at them when he did. "I just wanted to be useful. Since I couldn't do anything else, I could at least make dinner."

Silence greeted that remark, buffeted only by the cheerful jingles on the television and the low voices of Don and Casey teasing each other over a tangled string of Christmas lights.

And then Raph said, slowly, "You aren't doin' all this 'cause you think you _have_ to, right?"

"Oh, holy cats, no _way!"_ Mikey yelped, and hugged his giant bowl of half-assembled trifle towards himself protectively. "I've been waiting to do all this all year!" Raph looked relieved and overly amused in equal parts, and Leo sighed with a similar expression on his face, and Mikey felt bad for making them feel bad. "It may have started out like that, but I _really_ love it now, honest."

"So then, why not go to school for it?" Leo pushed, and Mikey shrugged one shoulder.

"It's just a _hobby_ thing, Leo, it's not a _job_ thing. It's not like I'm the next Alton Brown. Anyone can pick up a cookbook and follow a recipe, y'know?"

"I distinctly remember you _not_ usin' a recipe for this," Raph pointed out, holding up another piece of brittle, and _how did he keep sneaking that off the plate._ "You just threw a bunch of stuff together and made it happen, I watched you do it."

"That's cause _peppermint bark_ is so easy it's _cheating,"_ Mikey replied shortly, with no idea why they were pressing the issue. "It's basically just melting chocolate and adding peppermint. Even one of _you_ guys could probably do it. Maybe."

Mikey's eyes strayed back to the large glass bowl in his hands, and he went back to work. A trifle was a layered dessert, like an icebox cake or a mudslide, and it was pretty versatile. This one was holiday-themed, because _duh._ He had added molasses and nutmeg to a spice cake mix, and once it was baked and then cooled, he'd crumbled it all up. Half of the crumbled cake went into the bottom of a large glass bowl, followed by a layer of vanilla pudding and whipped cream, and then the rest of it went on top of that, with more pudding then more whipped cream. Now it just needed to be topped with crushed gingersnaps and maybe some craisins and it would be _perfect._

"If you don't want to go to school to cook, what _do_ you want to do?" Raph asked, obviously having joined Leo's career day bandwagon. Mikey only refrained from rolling his eyes because it was Christmastime and big brothers got a pass to be annoying.

"Soccer, maybe?" Leo suggested, and Mikey shook his head.

"Soccer is like cooking, it's a _hobby._ I wouldn't wanna do it for a living, that would suck all the fun out of it." He hesitated, weighing his words, and then added, "I do kind of have... two ideas, maybe. But college is forever away, so it's not like I have to know _right now,_ right?"

"Right," Leo agreed, way too easily. "What are your ideas?"

"Well, first, I was kind of thinking maybe it'd be cool to be an EMT, like Sally?"

"Sally?" Raph interrupted, brow furrowing.

"Sally Pride," Leo explained. "She was the paramedic that brought you to the hospital after your accident. And that's an _amazing_ idea, Mikey, I had no idea you were interested in that," he continued warmly. Mikey couldn't help mirroring Leo's wide smile, heartened by the open approval from his oldest brother. "Even if you decide that's not what you want to do with your life, after all, that training would be a very useful thing to have."

"Yeah, Sally said it's something I could do kind of on the side." He sprinkled cookie crumbs on his trifle, pleased pink, and then hauled the dish carefully up off the counter and over to the fridge. Leo's longer legs brought him to the fridge door faster, and he opened it so Mikey didn't have to juggle the heavy dessert. "Thanks, bro."

"No problem. What's your second idea?"

"Jeez, you're one curious cat tonight," Mikey said without heat as he returned to the table, sliding the giant bowl of vanilla pudding with him as he reached for another glass dish. A shallow one this time, for the banana pudding he had just decided on just now—and without _any_ help from the peanut gallery; what was he paying these two for again? "I guess I was also sort of thinking maybe Psychology?" Leo and Raph both blinked at him, and he added quickly, "I dunno what I'd _do_ with a degree in Psychology, but I'm sure there are jobs..."

"No, there are," Leo said, realizing his silence had been misconstrued. He reclaimed his chair with a thoughtful look on his face. "I'm just surprised. Maybe I shouldn't be, though, we all know how much you like your Psych class." His smile was back, pleased and proud, and Mikey's fledgling nerves dissipated. "You could be a counselor, or a teacher, or—Mikey, there are _dozens_ of different psychology careers out there. I think you'd be incredible at any one you chose."

Mikey beamed at him, and leaned across the table to hug him, even though he was covered in flour and at least two types of sugar and some drippy, half-melted white chocolate. Leo didn't object to the armful of messy little brother, and hugged him back even though the angle was awkward and the bowl of vanilla pudding was falling victim to Raphael's sticky fingers.

If there was one thing Mikey was certain of, it was that he wanted to be _helpful_ in whatever he did. Cooking was cool, and soccer was fun, but if he had EMT training he would be able to save people like Raphael. If he were a psychologist, he would be more help to Leatherhead, and people _like_ Leatherhead.

If he could be _both,_ and he was pretty sure he could, then Mikey would be able to help _twice_ as many people—and he really liked that idea.

"Well, your apartment is officially ready to be partied in," Casey said as he and Don meandered toward the kitchen table. There was tinsel in his hair, and Donnie was biting on the edges of a smile, keeping a straight face as he took a seat next to Leo. Mikey pointed Casey toward the leftover carton of eggnog, and Casey beamed as he snatched it up. " _Hell_ yes, thanks, Mike. Anyway, I guess I should think about headin' back."

Don sat up straight. "This late? It's three o'clock in the morning."

"And it's really coming down out there," Leo added with a frown, turning in his chair to glance toward the living room window and the steadily falling snow beyond it. "Besides, April's with her dad visiting her aunt, right? You might as well just stay here."

"Better than an empty house," Raph nudged, and Casey rolled his eyes and did his best to look long-suffering, but there was a pleased pink in his face at the inclusion that made Mikey want to hug him, too.

"You know you guys are better than just 'better than an empty house,'" he said, popping open the carton and hiding his smile behind it as he took a quick swig. "Guess I wasn't really looking forward to goin' out in all that, anyway."

"Alright, sleepover!" Mikey crowed, pumping his fists in the air. "You can sleep in Raph's bunk, Case, since Raph's comfier on the couch." It was hard for Raph to climb in and out of the bottom bunk with that long cast, so he'd taken to their comfy monster couch at night. "I'll try not to wake you up tomorrow, I have to be up in time to get food ready for dinner." Which wouldn't _usually_ be a problem, but it was looking like he wouldn't get to bed until _five_ in the morning.

"Actually," Leo said calmly, steering Raph's hand away from the pumpkin cookies. "I'll take Raph's bunk tonight, since I'm getting up with Mikey in the morning, anyway. Casey can sleep with Don in our room."

Yeah, that made sense. And there was no reason for Don's face to turn pink, or for Casey to choke on his eggnog, while Raph smirked at his contraband cookie (what was he, anyway, a _ninja?)_ and Leo smiled at nothing in particular.

Mikey's brothers were weird.

* * *

Karai showed up fashionably late, in the worst Christmas sweater Mikey had ever seen, with a huge tupperware container of chocolate peanut clusters, and Mikey adopted her on the spot. Donnie and Raph did, too, a moment later, when she crossed the room to Leo and kissed him soundly on the mouth—to Leo's immediate mortification, and his entire family's utter delight.

"We are _keeping you,"_ April declared, and Karai turned to smile brightly at her.

After enduring a round of good-natured catcalls and jeers, Leo loosened up again—and Mikey thought that probably wasn't the first time Karai had kissed him, if the easy way he wove his fingers through hers was any indication.

"Thank god," Donnie breathed softly, and even the mirth on Raph's face faded a little into something grateful and glad. Mikey waited for his window, then greeted Karai with the snug hug he reserved just for his siblings—the first of _many,_ if he had anything to say about it. She was only taken aback for a second, and then she wrapped Mikey up just as tight, and Leo's eyes were so tender on the two of them it should have been impossible.

Murakami and Mr. O'Neil knew each other from way back when, through the Hamatos; sensei used to invite them over for Christmas Eve, too. They were chatting amiably in the kitchen, holding plates of food, and Mikey spent a few minutes weaving around, making sure everyone had enough to eat and everything tasted okay.

(Casey almost _cried_ when he bit into the honey-glazed ham, and Donnie was treating the candied yams like a religious experience, and once Alopex found the banana pudding all hope was lost for anyone else—so Mikey was of the opinion that overall his first year cooking had been a marked success.)

Leatherhead smiled warmly when Mikey plopped down beside him on the couch, and wound a large arm around his shoulders to make more room for him. "You look tired."

"I _am_ tired. I'm all cooked out. We're having leftovers and grilled cheese for the next _week._ Worth it, though," he added, while Leatherhead chuckled. "And I'm glad you're here, by the way! Are you having fun?"

"I am," his friend replied. "I was talking to April up until a few minutes ago. Now she and Casey are cornering Donnie in the hallway." Oh, _really?_ Now if _that_ didn't sound interesting... "And before you suggest we spy on them," LH added dryly, as Mikey opened his mouth, "keep in mind they still have the power to withhold Christmas presents."

"Oh, yikes. That's true. Good call, buddy." Mikey's phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he leaned against Leatherhead for a moment to work it out. Unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb, he scanned the text quickly. "Huh. It's from Debbie. She's out of town, and she wants to know if I can run by the shop. I guess a delivery that's been on back-order like _forever_ got dropped off today, and she can't get ahold of Brad to tell him to go down and bring it inside. Obviously it can't sit in the snow all night, it'll be all gross and wet in the morning." He stood, already thumbing back a quick _'sure, no problem.'_ "I can go take care of that real quick."

"I'll give you a ride," Leatherhead said, putting his plate aside.

"Yo, Mikey," Raph called from the kitchen, angling his wheelchair towards the living room as Mikey pulled on his coat. Alopex was sitting comfortably on his lap with the entire dish of banana pudding, and when Mikey glanced their way, she waved to get his attention, pointed at the pudding, then offered a double thumbs-up. Mikey grinned, at the same time Raph rolled his eyes. "Al, quit being a dork, Jesus. Mikey, you goin' somewhere?"

"Yeah, I gotta swing by work," he said, and should have been more prepared than he was for his brother's narrowed eyes. Mikey raised his hands. "I'm just doing my boss a quick favor! It's gonna be there and back, half an hour tops. Leatherhead's giving me a lift."

Al gave him a lopsided smile before Raph could interject, and said, "Go ahead, Mike. We'll run interference with Leo. The sooner he leaves," she added, when Raph looked ready to argue the point some more, "the sooner he gets back."

"Ugh, _fine."_

"Yeah, so, Leo's gonna notice I'm gone in like two seconds," Mikey said conversationally as they took the elevator down. "Al has no idea what she just signed up for."

The snow was still coming down with gusto, but the wind wasn't too bad. Mikey tromped his way through the good four inches of unshoveled snow toward the street, where Leatherhead's little red hatchback was parked.

They cleared the windshield off with their gloved hands, and piled inside. The car may have been ancient, but its heater was still alive and kicking, and the cabin was warm within a few minutes. The headlights cut easily through the winter dark, and the streetlights and the snowflakes made a pretty picture as they wound their way through the nonexistent traffic and the slick streets towards Astoria.

Leatherhead pulled into the alley behind the shop and parked right by the back door. He left the engine idling as Mikey popped open his door, content to wait there for a few minutes while Mikey hauled the box of whatever-it-was inside. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, dropped them in the snow, _finally_ got the door unlocked, and made a face when he saw Leatherhead laughing behind his hand in the car.

Mikey carried the box to a table in the back, and set it carefully down. He shot a quick glance toward the staircase that led up to the Bradfords' apartment, thinking it was a little odd that Brad wasn't around to take care of this for his mom, since he lived right up there compared to the ten minute drive from Flushing. Then again, it was the holidays, and Mikey had a houseful of friends and family waiting for him—maybe Brad was out with his friends, too.

Mikey gave the box a pat, and the shop a cursory once-over as he headed back towards the door. And then he stopped, and doubled back a few steps, and—that was a lot of broken glass. What looked like half a dozen decorative vases had been knocked off one of the shelves. But that didn't make sense. Customers weren't allowed back here, and there's no way Debbie or her husband or even Bradford would have left a mess like—

_BANG._

"Holy—" Mikey jumped, and dropped his keys, and after a brief moment spent with his palm pressed against his leaping heart, he darted towards the staircase. Good sense had no time to catch up to his reflexes, and Mikey was taking the stairs two at a time.

"Brad?" he asked, knocking a few times on the door at the top of the stairs. "Hello? Hey, dude, it's Mike. Your mom asked me to come by, and I heard that crash just now, and— Everything okay in there?"

The door swung open a few seconds later. Mikey looked up, an apologetic smile on his lips—then looked up a little more, into a very unfamiliar face framed by expensive-looking aviators and sideswept black hair, and felt his smile fade.

"Uh," he said eloquently, drawing a blank. "Mr. Bradford? Maybe?"

"Leave him alone," came a voice Mikey recognized, sharp and urgent. Bradford appeared at this strange man's shoulder, and his healing face was all purple again along one side, and he looked freaked out. "Hun, I mean it, _leave him."_

"Oh," the man said with a dangerous smile, "is this a friend of yours, Chris?"


	42. Our Broken Bridges Didn't Burn - Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is Problem Child's second birthday, and a few of my pals on tumblr decided to celebrate by writing fanfic of their very own for the PC 'verse—which was absolutely the best thing ever! So I kicked my butt into overdrive to get this chapter hammered out in time, too.
> 
> Those of you who lurk around my blog may know this, but this chapter is the ** _last numbered chapter_** of Problem Child, and all that's left now is the epilogue. I've had such a fantastic run with you guys that I can hardly believe it's practically over. This story was my very first foray into the TMNT fandom, and you all met me with open arms and a whole lot of love and support, even as what started as a threeshot expanded rapidly into the 100k word monster it is today, and I can't thank you enough for that. I've connected with and made friends with a lot of amazing people throughout these last two years, and for that reason this AU will always have a very special place in my heart.
> 
> The epilogue to come will tie up all the loose ends that are left—and don't forget to check my bio for the list of PC sidefics and oneshots I have posted here, and the "problem child" tag on my blog (URL "taizi" on tumblr) for all the extras and shorts and prompt fills in the PC 'verse that never made it to AO3.
> 
> Thank you so much for seeing this story through with me to the very end. I had a blast.

Everything happened really, really fast, almost all at once, and Mikey's head was still spinning by the time he caught his breath.

Brad had moved to push his brother away from Mikey, trying to force himself between the two of them—and Mikey moved an agreeable step back with wide eyes, because holy _cats,_ it was _Hun. The_ Hun. The leader of the Purple Dragons, and Slash's boss, and the driving force behind those awful bruises Bradford had had to carry around on his face for days. Altogether, _not_ exactly someone Mikey had had any intention of meeting, _ever_ , and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so cowed just from being in the same room as someone else.

But what felt like a second later, Hun caught Brad by the arm, and something gleaming and silver glinted in his fist as he pulled it back, and Mikey sucked in a scared breath. Fell back on muscle memory, ducking under the arm Brad had thrown out in front of him and coming up fast, striking Hun under the chin with the heel of his hand.

It was a little clumsy, and it shouldn't have stung in the wrist the way it did, but six years of daily training didn't just go away, not really. Hun staggered back a few steps and coughed harshly, and Brad hadn't been stabbed or cut or whatever the heck Hun had planned to do with that switchblade. Which made it a _good move,_ as far as Mikey was considered.

Heart beating wildly around in his ribcage, he traded a quick, stunned look with Bradford—who looked every bit as stupefied as Mikey probably did. "I used to do martial arts," Mikey said dumbly, and Bradford replied, "Oh."

Then he moved forward and snatched up his brother's knife, folding it shut and throwing it down the stairs, where it clattered to the floor and out of view.

"He's drunk," Bradford said plainly, looking seventeen going on about seventy. "He showed up _smashed._ He's usually not so—y'know."

"Stabby?" Mikey offered dubiously, watching warily as Hun propped himself against a wall. His wrist hurt. He hoped Hun's throat hurt more. "I find that hard to believe. He looks like he's stabby all the time."

"You should get out of here," Bradford said, and his voice got quick, because Hun was upright again. "He's—he's not a good guy, Hamato."

"Obviously," Mikey said, and clustered a step closer to his friend. Trying to imagine leaving Bradford to deal with this situation on his own, and failing. Trying to imagine _himself_ dealing with this situation on his own, and making up his mind. "Which is why I'm _definitely_ not leaving until he passes out peacefully somewhere and we can call the cops from a locked room," Mikey added firmly, and couldn't miss the way Bradford relaxed just a fraction, and felt most of his anxiety pass like a wave into something mild as Hun staggered into a chair and almost fell over.

Drunk people were like big dumb animals, and even the leader of a notorious street gang wasn't as much of a threat to them as he was to himself when he could barely stand up.

Bradford seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he gestured, and they moved around the room in tandem with his brother; away from the open front door at the top of the stairs, and more towards the center of the room, as Hun made like he was going to leave.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Brad asked at that point, and Mikey shrugged.

"Your mom couldn't get ahold of you to bring in a delivery that got dropped off last-minute, so she asked me to come do it. I didn't mind." Bradford made a face, more at himself than at Mikey, but Mikey could see now why Brad had been too busy to answer the phone. After a moment, he admitted, "This is a little anticlimactic. I mean, everyone really hyped this guy up—and with him being the boss of the Dragons—and after what he did to _you—_ "

"He's having a bad night," Bradford replied without sympathy, watching his brother with sharp eyes. "That _Slash_ guy is his heavy hitter, and I guess without him on the payroll there's been dissension in the ranks. I don't know why he took off, but I can guess. He's causing Hun a hell of a lot of grief over it. And given what I found out, grief isn't a big enough word for the shitstorm he's about to be in for."

He sounded meanly pleased about Hun having a hard time, and Mikey couldn't blame him. He glanced at him, curious despite himself and the situation they were both in. "What did you find—"

And something _popped,_ and went whizzing by his ear, and he blinked. Bradford was stone still beside him, practically a statue, and Mikey followed his gaze back to Hun. Who stood across the room in front of the door, handgun held out in front of him at chest height. And he was still rocking a little, unsteady on his feet, but his dark eyes were bright and almost _manic_ behind his crooked aviators _,_ and the gun was veering more to one side than at either one of his targets, but his finger was still on the trigger.

 _Oh, of course,_ Mikey thought, with a perspicacity that seemed a little out of place when there should have rightly only been room in the thinking half of his brain for a _boatload_ of distress or panic or some ugly combination of the two. _Of course he has a gun. It just wouldn't make sense if I could just do my boss a favor and get back home without getting_ shot at, _would it?_

"Hun," Brad said slowly, similarly sounding more disbelieving than freaked out. At least Mikey wasn't the _only_ one. "Are you serious? Put it down."

"Big man these days, huh, Chris?" Hun said quietly, in a voice that didn't slur. "Big enough to turn your own brother in? And for what, _him?"_

He gestured with the gun at Mikey, and Mikey opened his mouth to protest on principle— _Him?_ What did _he_ do?—but he shut it again quickly. The dazed objectivity was fading fast into something not so dazed and objective, because the man sounded _there_ enough, despite the intoxication and the involuntary, imbalanced rocking back and forth, to be a threat, and that was a _gun_ in his hand. It was really there, this was really happening, and it hit Mikey as solidly as he'd hit Hun just minutes ago.

"Oh, man," he whispered, finally feeling a real fear that had been evading him since he stepped into the apartment. Whether it was shock or just plain being stupid, talk about delayed reactions.

He started to wish he hadn't come here at all, but that would mean Bradford would have been here alone. Mikey settled for wishing _Hun_ hadn't come here at all, and shifted closer to Brad—trying not to feel like a complete coward, but that was a _gun._ That was way more than the other stuff Mikey had had to deal with lately, way more than being sick and skipping sleep and dodging the Boogeyman. He felt marginally better when Brad stepped over, putting Mikey halfway behind him, but only _barely—_ he didn't want _Brad_ getting shot either.

"Get behind me," Brad snapped out of the corner of his mouth when Mikey hurried up to his side. Mikey was probably trembling, but he shook his head stubbornly anyway.

"I'm like, a black belt," he said, ridiculously. " _You_ should get behind _me_."

"Are you _buddies_ with him now?" Hun asked, in a way that sounded pleasant without being pleasant at all. His tone was cold and sharp, like a cracked sheet of ice, and it made Mikey shiver. "He humiliated you, and now you're—"

"For the last time," Brad cut in, anger building in his face in a big and ugly way that reminded Mikey of Raph, "he didn't _do_ anything. I started something stupid and his brother ended it."

"You should have let me take care of it."

"Take care of _what?_ Since when do the notorious Purple Dragons patrol schoolyard bullshit?" Brad surged forward a vicious step, and Mikey made a grab for him. _Gun_ , dude! "You've done more damage to my reputation than this kid _ever_ has. _You_ almost got me kicked off my team. You know how many people won't have shit to do with me, just 'cause they know who you are? I thought once dad kicked you out, life would be at least a little easier, but _no—_ "

"He's messing up _everything,"_ Hun said blackly, and his eyes cut past Brad to Mikey. And they weren't the scary turquoise of Slash's, but they sent the same chill down Mikey's spine. "It's thanks to _him—_ "

"No. This is your problem. You blame everything on everyone else. You're just _pissed_ that your star player dropped out of the game," Bradford snapped out, hands balling into fists. This was—definitely family stuff, Mikey realized slowly. This was building and building for _years,_ and all coming to a head at a really unfortunate moment in time, probably because Mikey was here, and he was just lucky like that. "You don't have a big dog on a chain to yank around anymore, because you kicked it once and it _bit you back._ No one's gonna fall in line for you if you can't handle your business like an adult— _I'm_ not gonna fall in line for you," he added. "I know what you did, and you can't change that I know. It's over, Hun. It'll just be over a whole lot faster if you try to _shoot_ me in my own _house."_

And there was a lot of ticked off heat in his voice, but also a lot of hurt, a lot of getting sick of carrying baggage around that was been breaking his back all along, and finally shrugging it off—but it hurt just as much to lose all that weight all of a sudden than it would have to take another step underneath it.

And Mikey only had half an idea what they were talking about, but Bradford had never seemed more sure of himself, as he took yet another reckless step forward and said, "Just drop it, Hun. It's _done."_

And maybe he would have, maybe not. His gun wavered, and dipped down a few inches, and then a familiar silhouette loomed up behind him. Mikey was already exhaling relief as Hun's eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the floor; and as Leatherhead stepped over Hun and crossed the room to him, Mikey hurried to meet him halfway.

"I can't think of a time I've ever been more glad to see you," he said with feeling, and Leatherhead gave him this incredulous, half-despairing look, like he wanted to ask how in the heck Mikey got into these situations, how a simple holiday favor could turn into _"Gunfight at O.K. Corral."_ He settled instead for shaking his head, and wrapping an arm around Mikey's shoulders that Mikey leaned into gratefully. He was still shaking a little, but there wasn't a safer place in the room than where he was tucked up against Leatherhead's side, and that sense of security would sink in if he gave it a minute.

Tried not to think of how different things might have gone, if Leatherhead hadn't been waiting outside, if he hadn't gotten worried and gone in after his decidedly disaster-prone friend. Thoughts like those were definitely nightmare fuel.

"Are you both okay?" Leatherhead asked. Mikey nodded, curling his fingers into the pocket of Leatherhead's big overcoat, and Bradford took the sudden appearance of the giant man in his house like a champ. He uttered a quiet "yeah," and kicked Hun's gun out of the way, much like he'd been quick to toss the knife, and pulled out his phone in a tired, brittle way to call the police.

Leatherhead steered Mikey toward the sofa, and sat him down, and then sat down beside him because Mikey had something of a deathgrip on his pocket. "You're okay," Leatherhead said softly. He sounded sure, and more than that he sounded _right,_ so Mikey nodded and tried to make his heart stop pounding.

"Police are on their way," Brad said, and it looked like he texted someone before he slid his phone away. "Dispatcher said you two ought to stay, to give a statement. Sorry," he added, a little helplessly, and Mikey shook his head.

"I basically barged into your apartment, dude, that's on me," he said, and Leatherhead sighed. It was an 'of course you did' sigh, but he didn't ask. He just seemed as happy as Mikey was that Mikey didn't get shot. And _jeez,_ he could have been _shot._ But Bradford was giving him this pale look, so Mikey grinned. And it formed easily to his face, and it was even mostly sincere, and that was pretty heartening, all things considered. "This is probably the second most exciting Christmas Eve I've ever had," he added cheerfully.

Brad blinked, and then snorted, and some of the deep lines in his face eased away. " _Second_ most? Actually, I don't want to know."

It was a long story, anyway. "Hey, so," Mikey said, "what was that thing you found out that ticked him off so much?"

Bradford's head darted up again, and he seemed frozen in place by the question for all of two seconds. Then he rubbed a hand through his hair, and seemed to cast around for the best place to start.

"Mom had him over for dinner the other night, and he left his phone on the counter for a minute. I went through it," Bradford added, almost unnecessarily. "There was—a lot of stuff on that phone. You know how it is, you keep _everything_ on your phone. And I was just—I don't know, it doesn't make sense. Hun does a lot of bad shit, he literally runs a gang, so I don't know why I was so certain I'd find something important on there. It was mostly just a gut feeling." He raised bright eyes to meet Mikey's, mouth a pressed, thin line. "I swiped his phone for about an hour. Went through emails and texts, the whole nine yards, like one of the goddamn Hardy Boys."

"And?" Mikey asked slowly, not sure where this was going. Hun didn't have very much to do with Mikey or Mikey's family. He hadn't even known the guy existed until Bradford mentioned him at their secret team meeting in that noodle cafe, what felt like _ages_ ago.

"And I found out _Hun_ is the one who ordered that hit on Raphael," he said, and Mikey felt Leatherhead go absolutely still beside him. "I don't know if he meant to kill him or not, but it was—it was just payback, 'cause Slash had skipped out on his last few gigs. It _wasn't_ an accident," Bradford said brutally. "Your brother was hurt on purpose. And I have proof, I copied all of the—"

"So," Mikey cut in, very slowly—trying to take this new information in neat and orderly, and failing as epically as a sinking cruiseliner, "Spike didn't do it?"

Brad didn't seem to mind the interruption, looking at Mikey sidelong like he was about to spontaneously combust."If you mean Slash, no. He didn't."

"Oh," Mikey replied succinctly, blinking at his hands. He _knew_ Raph had been hurt with intent, that wasn't news. But it wasn't Spike's fault the way he'd _thought_ it was, and he had pushed him away with such cruelty that day in Raph's hospital room that he couldn't believe himself.

" _Hard to believe a shrimp like you could cause as much trouble as you have,"_ Spike's unkind alter-ego had said that very first time they had met in more than six years. And whether that was the altercation with Bradford that had put him and his family on the Purple Dragon's radar, or an echo of the age-old jealousy Spike had always carried when Raph continuously chose his little brothers over his best friend, or something else entirely, Mikey had let it color his whole perception of the stranger who had once been almost family.

"Guess he's been real distracted lately, seeing a lot of you brother instead of doing his job, and it pissed Hun off," Brad said, talking just to fill the uncomfortable silence. "But something about the guy had to have been different, 'cause Hun's always been able to—I don't know, 'punish' him into doing what he was told, but this time it had an undesired outcome. Slash disappeared."

"At least he left the Dragons," Leatherhead said, very gently. "That's a start."

It _was_ a start. And as the sound of sirens came into earshot, still sounding kind of far away, Mikey said, "Hey, Brad. If you can, could you pass my number along to him?"

That took the other boy by total surprise. "You want me to give _Slash_ your phone number?"

"Yeah," Mikey replied quietly. "Turns out he's kind of an old friend." And he would reach out to him, and then leave the ball in Spike's court; and if Spike wanted his help he would know where and how to find it.

And until then, Mikey was going to let it go. He would get the chance to apologize someday.

"What are you going to do with this information?" Leatherhead was asking, and Brad smirked wearily.

"Give it to the cops. D.A.'s been after something on my brother for _years._ And I was thinking," he added, "your family could sue for compensation, Hamato. Since Raph was laid up in the hospital for awhile, you know?"

"Holy cats," Mikey said, eyes widening. "We—I mean, _maybe?_ We could definitely use the money..."

But he wasn't sure if Leo would want to drag his family into the media circus, when so much of their lives after mom and then again after sensei were lived as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. Or if Leo would even be willing to find and pay a lawyer for the sake of the possibility of a helpful cash cow. He would do it in a heartbeat if his brothers _needed_ him to, but he wouldn't do it for himself. Raph was fine, and the bills were in Leo's name. He'd sooner find a way to kill himself paying it the hard-earned way than win a lawsuit.

And then, also, Mikey wasn't sure how he'd go about explaining all of this to his family _anyway._

"I guess we'll see," he settled for, and it seemed to satisfy Bradford, and it made Leatherhead smile.

* * *

The police only beat Xever by maybe two minutes at the _most._ He pushed his way past an officer up the stairs, lean and lethal-looking and full of a fear that Mikey would know anywhere, from the looks on his sibling's faces that night in the waiting room after Raph's accident.

 _"Nossa Senhora,"_ he said faintly, when he saw Bradford standing with an officer on the far side of the room, and his expression at that point was so conflicted and confused that Mikey wasn't sure if Xever was going to punch Brad or kiss him, as he strode across the room with sharp intent in his eyes.

Turned out it was _both,_ in short order, and then Bradford was rubbing the new ache in his jaw as Xever framed his face with careful fingers, looking over the damage Hun left with such a familiar, proprietary air, that Mikey said "Ohhh," finally figuring it out; followed by, involuntarily, "Awww."

Xever glanced at him at that point, and his gaze was as quick and cutting as throwing knives, _honestly_. Mikey was only brave enough to meet the x-ray look head-on because he had Leatherhead next to him.

But all Xever did was reach over, and put a hand on his shoulder, and say, "Thank you."

"Oh," Mikey said again, "no, I didn't do anything."

"You were here," Xever replied, and that seemed to be that.

"You've officially been gone an hour longer than you said you would be," Leatherhead said peacefully, and seemed amused by the way Mikey almost tripped down the last three stairs in abject horror. "I sent Leo a message letting him know everything was okay," he added, probably taking pity on Mikey's distraught expression. "I only had three texts on my phone. I can't imagine how many are on yours."

"My phone probably exploded," Mikey said glumly, following Leatherhead out to the car. It was still snowing, fat and fluffy, cheerful-looking flakes that stood out bright white against the winter-black night. "Oh, well. We're on our way back now, at least, and there's no way anything else bad can happen tonight."

Leatherhead gave him a hard, only partly-joking stare as he started the car. Mikey winced, realizing he jinxed them both. But the car started right up, and none of the tires blew out, and the ride back home was safe and sound. Leatherhead parked in the back lot of the building at Mikey's direction, because it wasn't technically allowed if the car didn't belong to a tenant, but people broke that rule all the time. They hopped out, and it was a much shorter trek to the front of the building, and all the Christmas lights strung up and down the street had Mikey grinning again by the time they pushed their way past the heavy doors into the warm lobby.

_Hah, see? Nothing bad happened!_

"They better have saved us some pie," he said severely, even shaking a fist, and Leatherhead chuckled in a soft, content way as they headed towards the elevator.

And then, "Michelangelo."

Uncle Saki stood up from where he sat on one of the uncomfortable benches to one side of the lobby, and strode to meet them. Mikey blinked at him, surprised to see the man where he and his brothers lived—then it quickly made sense again, and he hazarded a guess and a smile.

"Are you here for the party?"

The man looked wrong-footed by that, and after a moment, he shook his head. Looking and sounding so much like sensei that Mikey wanted to talk to him more, and know him better, like it might bring father closer somehow, too.

"No, I just came to give you this," he said, and produced a thick envelope from his pocket. "You should open it upstairs, with your brothers. Perhaps once your party is over."

"It's just our family up there," Mikey assured him as he took the envelope and turned it over curiously in our hands. "If this is a family matter, it only makes sense to open it when everyone's here, right?"

Uncle Saki just looked at him for a moment, like Mikey was speaking a language Saki hadn't heard in so long he was only barely able to understand. Mikey felt a pang of sympathy for the guy; he seemed to have that effect on people.

"You're family, too," Mikey added, because he was, even if once upon a time he didn't want to be. Saki had hurt sensei once, a long time ago, and he didn't go to sensei's funeral; but brothers hurt brothers a lot, Mikey had come to realize, even if they didn't want or mean to—and _he_ hadn't gone to sensei's funeral, either. Leo was scared of all the people there, all of the adults who might have taken his little family away that they had bolted at their very first opportunity, and they had never gone back. "I made a bunch of food, enough for everybody," he tried. "And there's probably still pie left."

"The pie was exceptionally good," Leatherhead put in, and Mikey's smile split into a grin.

"See? At least come up for a piece of pie."

"No," Saki said again, firmly, but there was something soft and relenting in his face that Mikey was pretty sure looked a little like regret. "Not this time. I think we both know I would not make a welcome houseguest. I just came by to pass along the contents of the envelope, not to linger for pleasantries."

But that was obviously a lie, because he'd been sitting right next to the mailboxes, and he had been to their apartment before, he knew they lived in 505. He could have slipped the envelope into their mailboxes and been on his merry way, but he didn't. And he wasn't. He was holding the brim of his hat, without making any move to put it on, and hesitating to sweep out the door, and watching Mikey like he was something rare and impossible.

Which made Mikey think that Saki wanted, at least a little bit, to stay. But he couldn't, because really proud people were impossible like that—and Mikey would know, given who he grew up with. So he didn't let his smile fade, and stuck his hand out.

"Next year, then," he said, and it wasn't a question. And Saki didn't smile back, but he did shake Mikey's hand. And then he was gone, and Mikey rubbed a damp mitten through his hair. "So that was weird," he said to Leatherhead, and his friend nodded.

"Better let it be weird upstairs, or your family is going to mount a search party," he added, and that made way more sense than just standing around did, so Mikey rolled his eyes and punched the Up button by the elevator, and ran his thumb along the edge of the envelope.

"Wonder what's in here that's so important," he pondered somewhere between floors three and four, and he was still studying the envelope when he pushed open his apartment door, and so he was much less prepared for the sudden bombardment than he should have been.

It mostly boiled down to "Where they heck have you been?" and "What took you so long?" and "'Half an hour tops'? Really?" but there was no heat or ire in any of the questions, just a lot of fond exasperation and hair-ruffling.

"Sorry," he said without thinking, climbing out of his jacket, "the police wanted to keep us for questioning, I had no idea it'd take so long."

The silence in the room after that statement would have been comical if Mikey had thought to look for the humor in it. He was still curious about the envelope, though, and he wanted to know what was in it _really bad,_ and so he held it out to Leo promptly—who stared past it, right at Mikey, and asked, "The _police?"_

"Uhh—yeah. There was kind of a break-in at the flower shop," he said easily, catching Leatherhead's eye. "Nobody was hurt, and nothing got stolen, but we had to call the cops in the end, you know?"

"Even during the holidays," April said with distaste, and got a round of disgruntled murmurs in agreement. Leo took the envelope, but he framed Mikey's face in one hand for just a moment, an affectionate touch just for the sake of itself, and Mikey smiled at him.

"What is this?" Don asked, as Leo turned the envelope face-up and found it blank.

Mikey was struggling out of his wet shoes and socks by that point, doubled over and fighting with the strangled laces, so he missed their initial expressions entirely when he said, "I dunno. Uncle Saki gave it to me downstairs. He said we should open it together."

He only looked up against once he was barefoot and free of his snowy outwear, and blinked at the obvious division of the room. Half of the party-goers had passive expressions on their faces, only still listening out of a polite interest—and then Mikey's immediate family, his siblings and adopted siblings, looked downright thunderous.

"He was _here?"_ Karai hissed, and even in her awful Christmas sweater, with a snowman-shaped mug of hot cocoa in hand, she looked ready to deal some major damage. "I swear to _god,_ I'm going to find him and kick his—"

"I don't think he's trying to pick a fight or anything, guys," Mikey interrupted, frowning a little. "He was nice to me. He just wanted to give us whatever _this_ is."

"I don't know," Raph said immediately, pushing forward a little in his wheelchair. There was a frown line between his eyebrows, mouth tugged down at the corners, and he stared at the square of paper like it would come alive and bite.

"Just open the damn envelope and look what it is before you go and _decide_ what it is," Casey put in helpfully, sound aggrieved by all the back and forth. He had an arm snug around Don's waist, the other draped around April's shoulders, and Mikey spared the three of them a smile. Leo traded a long look with Raph, and then glanced at Karai, and then nodded.

Maybe being surrounded by family that he had found and earned all for himself, on Christmas Eve in this little home he had carved out for his brothers all alone, made him feel brave, because he even smiled.

"Okay," he said, and sat in the chair next to Raph. Mikey clustered in next to his elbow, and felt Don lean in from behind him to look over Leo's shoulder; everyone waiting with curious anticipation, while quiet Christmas music from the beat-up CD player on the kitchen counter filled the room behind them.

And he tore open the envelope along the side, and pulled out several sheets of folded paper, and unfolded them with a small, thoughtful frown—and the moment his eyes lit on the page, they were too bright and too wide, and even Don let out a little gasp, and there's no way they had read the whole thing yet, that was a page full of elegant, looped writing, so Mikey asked, "What? What is it?"

"That's dad's handwriting, kiddo," Raph said very gently, and Mikey forgot how to breathe. As one, they all huddled in closer, curling together around this piece of their father they had never known existed, and it wasn't a letter for them as much as it was a last will and testament for the whole world. A declaration, even, of love and belonging and _home._

Some of the other pages started to slip out of Leo's hands, and Don snatched at them. "How did they just find this?" he asked weakly, his voice all scratchy and soft. "How did it take them _two years_ to figure it all out?"

"I knew it," Raph was saying over him, and there was a light in his eyes that Mikey almost didn't recognize. His smile was wide and handsome and infectious. "I _knew_ he wouldn't do us like he did. He'd _never."_

And April's quiet voice was firm as it carried across everyone else, a concerned "Leo?" that was as much 'what's going on' as it was 'are you okay?'

It made sense that she looked so worried. Everyone did. Because Leo was folding slowly in half, pressing that letter to his heart with both hands, crying and crying and crying. Like he couldn't stop, or he didn't know how to, like all that was left here at the end of his rope was tears and grief and love and impossible gratitude. Donnie put an arm around his shoulders, and Raph wrapped solid hands around his wrists, and Mikey leaned into his side, staring at the crushed letter, not fully understanding.

"What does it mean?" he asked slowly, and felt someone press a kiss against his hair.

"He left us _everything,_ " Donnie told him, sounding faint and faraway. "All this time, and father's been watching over us all along. He really _didn't_ leave us on our own."


	43. Epilogue

By the time they pulled up to Mikey's house, the rain had stopped. The sun was peaking through the clouds as he popped open his door and smiled over at the driver.

"Thanks for the ride home," he said, "and sorry you had to go out of the way! I didn't realize LH was gonna be busy tonight."

"Don't worry about it, I don't mind," Bradford replied, even waving a dismissive hand at him. "Besides, once I graduate, the only time I'll ever get to see you is when I get to drive you home."

"Unless I follow you to NYU," Mikey replied innocently. Bradford scowled, but he was also trying not to grin.

"You don't have to _threaten_ me, Hamato."

He lingered at the driver's side window to make sure Bradford would be able to find his way back to Astoria, then stood back and waved until the car turned the corner.

It was a little strange being half an hour outside the city. Great Neck was much quieter than Queens, and sensei's property in Kings Point rested on a full acre that they had all to themselves.

The house was 80s contemporary, white with sleek angles and wide windows, and it sat on a hill at the edge of the waterfront, overlooking the Long Island Sound. The ocean was gray and beautiful after the rain and under the brightening sky, and the view from the backyard of the Manhattan skyline was the kind of thing that belonged in brochures.

Mikey grew up there, sure, but he was still getting re-accustomed to the concept of so much _room._

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he made his way up the walk, and he smiled when he saw Leatherhead's name. Putting the phone to his ear, he said cheerfully, "Hey, dude. Way to ditch me today."

" _It's not my fault you forgot what I told you five times,"_ Leatherhead replied dryly. _"And it really was five times, Michelangelo."_

"Yeah, yeah. So how's it going? Is the therapy helping any? That doctor Angel helped us find looked really cool."

" _She's amazing,"_ Leatherhead told him. Mikey pushed open the gate to the backyard – there were way too many unpacked boxes in the foyer to try using the front door – and let his steps slow as his friend talked. The air was cool and fresh, and he wasn't in any hurry. _"I think we're making some real headway. It helps that I'm allowed to sit in on the sessions."_

"Yeah, I'd imagine. Is he still there? Tell him that I said hi, and also that I said _no._ "

" _There is no possible way you could have known he asked about adopting your cat again."_ It sounded like Leatherhead was grinning.

"It's my Spidey-sense. I told you I had one." Mikey climbed the steps up to the deck, and tugged open the sliding glass door. "You're still coming over for dinner tomorrow, right? Tell me about everything, okay?"

" _I will. I only called to make sure you got home okay. Oh, and Spike says hello."_

Leo looked up when he came in, and smiled. Everything about Leo was lighter and brighter these days, like the air was somehow cleaner and the weight on his shoulders was gone. He lifted an arm, and Mikey dropped his bag in an armchair and crossed the room to join him on the couch, tucked warmly against his big brother's side.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Leatherhead. I just wanted to make sure he didn't forget about tomorrow."

"The last thing he would forget about is you," Leo said, amused. But he turned his attention back to the book in his lap. Mikey recognized it as the photo album from sensei's shrine. Leo's fingers brushed every page softly, like this whole thing was a dream he might wake up from if he pressed too hard or touched too much.

Mikey didn't blame him a bit. Just sitting in the living room felt too surreal to put into words.

"Where's Raph?" he asked. He knew Don was with April and Casey, taking a tour of their new college campus; he kept texting Mikey pictures throughout the day, so happy and excited he couldn't contain himself. Even though he had been at work, Mikey made sure to reply to each one with gratuitous exclamation points and emojis, so Donnie wouldn't feel discouraged in his happy enthusiasm.

"Out with Al. I think she could tell it was driving him a little crazy, being stuck in a wheelchair with all these boxes in his way."

"Yeah, we really ought to get to work on that," Mikey said, not moving. Leo didn't move, either, except to flip another page in the photo album.

For the last two years, the house had been carefully packed up and untouched. Books, clothes, toys, useless clutter – all of it was still here. And the huge, furnished basement was still outfitted as sensei's dojo, even if most of the equipment and weapons had been put into storage.

Mikey had outgrown most of what used to be his, but his heart had ached in a good way to realize that someone had been kind enough not to throw all their things away. He had a pretty good idea who that someone was, too.

"Have you heard from Uncle Saki?" Mikey asked. Leo went still, just for a moment, then shook his head.

"No. I sent him an e-mail, though. Saying thank you."

Mikey smiled. "Good. Maybe he'll come to Thanksgiving."

Leo snorted, and it turned into a laugh that he struggled against. Mikey grinned at nothing in particular, and Leo managed, "Karai would be _thrilled._ "

"Have you asked her to move in, yet?"

"Not yet. Think she'll say yes?"

"Dude," Mikey said, deadpan. Leo laughed again.

"I know. I'll ask her tomorrow."

Leo was so different now, for all that he was still the most familiar thing in Mikey's whole world. He stood taller, and smiled more, and loved with confidence. He had lived so long being weary and heartsore, that Mikey honestly hadn't realized what a difference it would make to see him so happy – but now that he knew, he would never settle for less again.

"I just – I just can't believe we're here," Leo added, a little softer. "I can't believe we're _home."_

And Mikey thought of that apartment he could barely remember, the one with long yellow curtains and light blue walls. He thought of their little apartment in Flushing, with the broken elevator and thin walls and rowdy neighbors.

Then he thought of sensei, a stranger who had found them, and loved them, and gave them everything he had. He thought of Mr. Murakami, and warm meals on cold nights when they were young and hungry and alone. He thought of April and Casey, as much Mikey's siblings as his actual siblings were. Leatherhead, scarred and damaged and the kindest person Mikey had ever met. Mr. O'Neil, who advocated fiercely for Leo in court, when Leo was sixteen and desperate to keep his brothers together. Karai, proud and strong and not lonely anymore.

Mikey thought of the family that had always surrounded them, no matter where they were, and said, "We've always been home, Leo."


End file.
